


Battle for Camelot

by Swift_tales



Series: Days of Legend [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Merlin/Arthur pre-slash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swift_tales/pseuds/Swift_tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Racing to gather the lord of the south and defeat Mercia while trying to deal with Merlin's revelation, it's hard to be the prince of Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

Camelot was lit up like a beacon in the dark. Leon couldn’t tell how many candles must be burning this night, but from the view of his tiny room he could see at least hundreds lighting up the lower town. The people could hardly afford it, but they burned what small and precious wax they had for the wounded and the refugees to find their way to Camelot in the dark. They were candles for lost souls and prayers for the dead. Leon had used them himself to find his way back to Camelot, riding through the night to make it home as quickly as possible to save as many lives as he could.

 

Thomas, the young man who stood behind the bar in The Singing Hedgehog had gone to war to fight for his city and he’d died only two hours before they’d reached the city gates. There was nothing anyone could do for him now. Leon hated to think how many others had died, how many might still die.

 

 “Come in.”

 

Neville stood in the doorway. His hair was clean, for the first time in three days maybe. He was dressed very similar to Leon, in a simple tunic and trousers with a sword girded around his waist. He looked tired, but his back was straight and his head held high. If he lived through the battles to come, Leon would ask Arthur to give him his knighthood, won on the fields of Cadarn Afon.

 

“Sir Leon, nearly all preparations are done. We’ll be ready to leave with first light on the morrow.”

 

Leon nodded. “Good. We can’t afford to be back late. The truce will hold for four days, but not a minute longer.”

 

He trusted Elyan, but he’d rather that trust not need be tested the very first time.

 

“And the council, my lord?” Neville asked.

 

Leon simply shook his head and left it at that. He could read the disappointment in the downward curve of Neville’s mouth. If only Arthur were here, then things would be much easier, much more straightforward. Leon was a field commander, a captain, a knight. He wasn’t a prince or a king to command armies and win wars.

 

“Go on, Neville. You need to get some rest. We have an early morning.”

 

“I will take rest when you will, Sir.”

 

Leon huffed laughter through his nose. “I will rest, Neville. I only need a quick word more with Gaius and then I’ll take to my bed. I promise.”

 

Neville looked suspicious, but Leon clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him out the door. They walked down the hall together, in the direction of the citadel. Neville took the stairs down to the soldiers’ barracks and Leon went to the left, to the great hall where Gaius stood, leaning over a young man’s body. He was applying a strange-looking paste to the boy’s forehead. They all looked like children to Leon now.

 

“Gaius, can you spare a minute?”

 

The old man looked up and cast his eyes across the hall. Braziers were burning in the corners and shadowy figures moved between the rows and rows of injured. Leon could faintly glimpse Gwen and the Lady Elena, both of whom looked so tired and worn that Leon didn’t know how they managed to put one foot in front of the other.

 

“Only a very brief minute, I’m afraid.”

 

“Of course, I don’t mean to keep you any longer than I have to.” They moved closer to the wall, away from the other caretakers and the unconscious bodies.

 

“There has been no word from Merlin or Arthur since you asked me this morning, I’m afraid.”

 

Leon desperately needed a drink. “I know. It’s not that.  I was wondering about the king’s … condition.”

 

Gaius’ eyebrows were doing that thing they did that made small children hide behind their mothers’ skirts in the streets. “Uther?”

 

“There has been no change in his condition? No chance that he might make an appearance for the people, for the council at the very least?” It was a faint hope, but perhaps the sight of Uther would rally the men. Word might reach Mercia that Uther was not as sick as Bayard wanted him to be. If Uther could appear before the council long enough, they could force the Southern lords to send the men they’d promised Uther.

 

Gaius shook his head. “I’m afraid the king’s condition remains unchanged. Our only hope is that Merlin finds Arthur in time and brings him back to Camelot.”

 

Leon knew that Merlin had saved Arthur’s life more than once. He knew that he should have faith in Merlin, but it was hard when the people around him were dying and there had been no word, no message, nothing. For all he knew, Merlin and Gwaine had fallen afoul of whatever had taken Arthur and they were all lost already. With a tired sigh, he nodded his thanks.

 

“Thank you, Gaius.”

 

The old physician turned away and Leon watched him return to his duties. There was nothing for it really. He left the hall behind him and made for the battlements. Braziers had been mounted up there as well, to warm the guards and to provide light to see by. It didn’t take him long to find Lancelot.

 

“And? How are things?”

 

Lancelot shrugged. “Quiet.”

 

“No fights, riots, disturbances of any kind?”

 

“Not since the one before you came back. People have been more subdued. There are more men in the city now and more wounded have returned as well.”

 

Leon nodded and leaned against the wall closest to the brazier. “Tempers might flare up again when we leave. You should be prepared for that.”

 

Lancelot inclined his head. “We will be.”

 

A cold breeze blew over the wall and Leon shivered. He should have worn a cloak. “How’s the rotation going?”

 

Lancelot shrugged. “Most of the men are patrolling the Lower and Upper Town. During the day they make tours of the Outer Town as well. All the gates are watched and I have enough men to switch them out during the day so they all get enough rest. Amadis de Gaule has been as faithful as he promised.”

 

Leon remembered Amadis, the red-haired knight who’d danced with Percival the night Arthur had won the tournament, when they’d all gotten drunk off Arthur’s victory and more wine than Leon had ever seen in his life. He wasn’t surprised at all.

 

“I didn’t expect anything less. The knights of Lady Elena’s entourage?”

 

“They’re both around. They’ve requested to patrol in the Citadel, to stay close to their king and lady.”

 

“And lord Godwyn?”

 

“Gaius tells me he’s gone to see Uther quite often, but that’s all. He’s tried to convince Lady Elena to leave Camelot, but she won’t and as long as she is here, he won’t leave either.”

 

Leon nodded. Things in Camelot were as he’d expected them to be, not better but at the very least not worse either. “Alright. You are on night patrol, tonight?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good, wake me if anything comes up. We’ll be leaving early in the morning. I’d like it if you came to see us of before you went to your rest. A show of solidarity might lift some spirits.”

 

Lancelot nodded. “Of course.”

 

Leon left the night behind and stepped back into the citadel. He’d never known the keep to be so hushed in the middle of the night. He was used to silence of night patrol, where you could just hear the footsteps of your fellow guards at the edge of your hearing. But the atmosphere was different now, oppressive and full of hushed whispers in the corridors and the scuttling, careful footsteps of the maids, as if they were afraid of waking a monster in their midst. Everyone seemed to be waiting, holding their breaths, for the end or for battle Leon didn’t know. He hoped war wouldn’t come to Camelot itself, but the way things were going now, Bayard might reach the city in a matter of weeks. If he’d broken the treaty while Leon was gone, if he’d gathered more men and Elyan couldn’t hold the river or send word to Camelot, Bayard could be outside the walls by noon the following day. The thought chilled him and he banished it from his mind. Bayard would hold the truce and if not, Elyan would hold the river.

 

“Sir Leon!”

 

The shout startled him out of his thoughts and he had to relax his grip around the heft of his sword. A guard was hurrying towards him, obviously agitated.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

“Sir, you’re wanted in the prince’s chamber urgently.”

 

Leon frowned. “By whose orders?”

 

“By the prince himself.”

 

The words seemed to tilt the world slightly on its axis and Leon held on to his sword. “What?”

 

The guard blinked and a faint look of unease was spreading across his face. “The prince, he ordered me to come and fetch you as quickly as possible. He said it was an emergency.”

 

They hadn’t told the people that Arthur was missing, but neither had they given an official statement on where he was or why he hadn’t gone out with the army. There were plenty of rumours. Most seemed to centre around Uther’s illness and how the prince must have finally succumbed to it as well. But surely, if Arthur had been spotted Leon would know of it already. The news would have spread faster than lightening.

 

“He spoke to you himself?”

 

“Yes, he did. His manservant, Merlin, was with him and Sir Gwaine and a tall lady.”

 

Leon didn’t hear the end of the sentence, because he’d already pushed past the guard. The hallway to Arthur’s chamber was silent and he could hear muffled voices behind the big oak doors. His heart was hammering madly in his chest and it took nearly all of his hard-won skill not to let it break his composure. He knocked on the door and a very familiar voice bade him enter. Merlin was standing near the cabinet, his face turned away from the door. Gwaine and Arthur were standing near the fireplace, travel-stained and talking in low voices.

 

A tall woman stood near the table, only two feet away from him. She turned at the sound of the door opening and one moment he was looking at the sheen on her hair, the tight pull on the strands from the bun at the back of her head, the hollow at her throat, the soft, round swell of her breast and the amulet around her wrist. Between her first blink and the next he’d drawn his sword and held it at her throat.

 

“Leon.” Arthur’s voice sounded very far away and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead.

 

“Leon, put the sword down.”

 

“Why?”

 

He didn’t lower his arm and Arthur stepped forward carefully. Leon noted the stance of his feet, the way he shifted his weight carefully to his right leg, ready to throw himself forward and into Leon to knock the sword away. He carefully loosened his grip so his hand wouldn’t cramp or spasm on contact. Sweat was gathering in his palm, clammy and uncomfortable. His heart was hammering in his chest.

 

“She saved my life,” Arthur said, calmly. “She came here to help us.”

 

Leon swallowed. “She could be making you say that. She can _make_ you do things.”

 

“I know,” Merlin offered. He’d come closer and Leon turned his head slightly to see him. “But I promise we know what we’re doing. She’s not using magic.” And before Leon could say anything, Merlin’s eyes glowed and the fire in the grate sprang to life, all on its own.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur’s face was pale and his voice sounded like the crack of a whip, but he didn’t move to stop Merlin, didn’t move to do anything, really.

 

Merlin looked from Arthur back to Leon. “I’d stop her if she was.”

 

Merlin could use magic. Merlin, who’d saved Arthur’s life more times than he could count. Merlin had gone and _found_ Arthur and brought him back safe and sound. Leon had always trusted Merlin’s judgement. He slowly lowered his sword, but he didn’t sheath it just yet.

 

“Why is she here?”

 

“She is here,” Arthur said, “at my request.”

 

Leon had never questioned Arthur’s judgement in public. He’d never told Arthur he was a lunatic for taking a man servant into a war zone, for choosing the quest of the Fisher King, for fighting a dragon, for attempting to conquer a kingdom with only four other knights at his side. Right now, Leon was very, very tempted to break that record.

 

“We need a physician at the front and Gaius is too old,” Arthur continued, as if this was all completely, perfectly reasonable. He turned to the fireplace. “I need you to tell me everything about the war so far.”

 

Leon finally turned to look at him fully, although he didn’t lose sight of her in the corner of his eyes. It was only then he noticed that Arthur had one arm in a sling. “We’ve given battle to Mercia twice. Both times we were ambushed but we fought him off. There’ve been many losses so far and we started the fight with half the men Bayard has. I’m not sure how heavy Mercia’s losses are, but he did offer us a four day truce. I left Elyan behind with most of the army and took a small patrol to bring the wounded home. We’re returning to battle on the morrow. I expect to arrive at our encampment in two days. Bayard won’t wait another day for battle. What happened with your arm?”

 

Arthur shook his head and turned to the other people in the room. “I’ll tell you when Lancelot gets here. Gloria, I want you in the great hall, doing what you can for the soldiers. Gwaine, go with her and make sure that the guards know she’s here on my orders. Merlin, go fetch Lancelot and afterwards go to the kitchen and get us some food.”

 

Leon cleared his throat. “Lancelot should be patrolling on the battlements.”

 

Gwaine nodded. “After you, my lady.”

 

Gloria frowned and cut her eyes at Leon, but hurriedly looked away when she caught him staring back. She turned to Arthur. “I should look at your arm, if you want to be able to lift a sword in two days.”

 

“Later, the dying need your help first.”

 

Her whole frame drew up as her back straightened and when she spoke next her voice sounded strained. “Fine” – she pointed at a goblet on the table – “but make sure you finish that.”

 

She nodded stiffly and then went quietly. Merlin hesitated by the door. He obviously wanted to say something but Arthur ignored him and refused to look at him and so he went. The door thumped softly behind him and the minute they were gone, Arthur stiffly lowered himself into a chair.

 

“Two days on horseback with a bad arm,” Arthur sighed and Leon went to sit down next to him. “But it’s getting better a lot quicker than it normally would have. Still…” He slipped his arm out of the sling and slowly, carefully rotated his shoulder. He winced at the pull of muscle and skin and then Leon moved to help him back into sling. “Thank you.” He picked up the goblet and sipped it. Leon sat down across from him so he wouldn’t be tempted to knock it out of his hand. “You said you only had half of Mercia’s force. That can’t be right. Unless Mercia has suddenly doubled the gold in their coffers.”

 

“The lords in the south refused to send men because my message did not bear the royal seal.”

 

Arthur frowned. “Didn’t the council give you license to use the seal?”

 

Leon refused to shift in his seat even though unease made him want to. “The council expressed concern about giving me full reign over Camelot’s army.”

 

Arthur’s frown deepened and he sat back in his chair. “ _Concern_?”

 

“Your father is ill and you went missing without a trace. If anyone were to gain control over the royal seal, if any knight of Camelot were prepared to stage a coup of any kind, now would be the opportune moment.”

 

Arthur’s anger was loud and red hot. It always had been. Even when they were pages together and Arthur had to press his lips together not to mouth off or shout at the older knights. Even then, he’d rage and rave alone in his chambers. He threw things and tore things. He’d calmed with age and his rages were less like childish temper tantrums, but Arthur still had a tendency to explode, like fireworks going off. Merlin often caught the worst of it these days. Arthur so still and so white was worrying.

 

“They think you’ll attempt to take over Camelot and so they refuse you the use of the royal seal to summon reinforcement against Mercia?”

 

“I’m afraid so. They don’t trust me, Arthur, because I have always supported you instead of your father. Your father’s illness and your disappearance has shaken them badly. They don’t trust the other knights either. Elyan, Lancelot, Percival ….. They were all commoners once. The council is full of traditionalists. They believe you can only trust others of nobility.”

 

“They’ll have to learn to trust them. I am the prince of Camelot and one day I will be king. That day might come sooner than they like, but there’s nothing they can do about that.” He rose from the table and moved towards the left side of the room, where the bed and the desk stood. He sat down behind it. “Can you spare Neville long enough for him to deliver a message?”

 

“I think if Neville had the opportunity to prove himself in front of the prince, he might prove himself worthy of knighthood.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Very well, I’ll have Frederick take it then.”

 

“Frederick’s dead. He took an arrow in the back.”

 

Arthur looked up at him. “Does his father know?”

 

“I informed Lord Alvrig this morning.”

 

“We’ll send his brother then, keep that one out of trouble for a bit. If the southern lords know what’s good for them they’ll meet us at Vortigern’s Keep.”

 

There was a knock on the door and Arthur idly motioned with his writing hand, the quill dripping ink everywhere.

 

“Come in.”

 

It was Lancelot. He was dressed in the armour they wore for patrol within the city and his red cloak was slightly damp. It must have started raining then. Leon hoped it wouldn’t rain tomorrow. It would make the march that much harder. Not to mention that it would slow down the wagons if the roads got too muddy. Rain could be disastrous for the battlefield.

 

“I could hardly believe it when I saw Merlin. It’s such a relief to know you’re all alright.”

 

Arthur smiled. “Thank you, Lancelot. It’s a relief to be back and to know that Camelot was in such trust-worthy hands while I was gone.” He stood from the desk and slowly walked towards the table. There was something off about his smile. It looked strained, almost brittle. “After all, even Merlin trusts you to keep his secrets, doesn’t he?”

 

Lancelot’s smile fell. “Arthur?”

 

Arthur went to sit down at the table. “Do you know, Leon, that Lancelot’s known about Merlin’s little secret all along?”

 

Leon felt unease crawling up his spine and remembered the look on Arthur’s face when Merlin had made the fire in the grate come to life. “The magic, sire?”

 

Lancelot paled, but Arthur’s strained smile never wavered. “Yes, the magic. In fact, he knew even before he was a knight of Camelot. He’s been committing treason against his prince and his king from the very beginning. I thought it made no sense, after I met Lancelot, that we only trusted the nobility to become knights. But, perhaps, my father had a point after all.”

 

“Sire, I only-”

 

“Enough!” Arthur’s shout startled Lancelot into silence. “Sit down, Lancelot, before you embarrass yourself.”

 

The knight hurried to comply.

 

“Did either of you come up with an official story for why I was gone?”

 

Leon took the change of subject in stride and shook his head. “The first day you were missing, we told anyone who asked that you were out on trip with Gwen. But after that, we didn’t give any formal statement. The council knows, but the people weren’t told anything.” It was a gross oversight, but the council had not known what to say and neither had Leon. In the end it had seemed for the best to wait until they knew anything with certainty.

 

“How have the people responded?” Arthur directed the question at Lancelot, who squirmed in his seat.

 

“So far everything’s been quiet. There are rumours, of course, some very wild ones. The most common one seems to be that you’ve fallen ill, like your father. Other than that people have been too busy, I think. There’s been a great influx of refugees and wounded. Everyone’s either helping with the war effort or sheltering refugees,” Lancelot offered. “They’ve been nervous and anxious, but everyone seems to be holding up fairly well.”

 

“No riots or anything?”

 

“There’s been some brawls and things, but certainly not more than expected. Less, even, I would say.”

 

Arthur looked relieved and nodded. “Very well, in the morning we’ll announce that I had been injured on the trip in the woods with Gwen and have only recently recovered enough to go to war.” He rubbed at his shoulder with his good hand, a frown on his face.

 

“Arthur, what really happened?” Leon intentionally kept his voice soft.

 

“Morgana had arranged to kidnap me from Camelot and take me to the Isle of the Blessed. I was gravely injured and I nearly died, but Merlin found me on time.  He brought me to a local healer, Gloria Redwood. She saved my life and I asked her to come here to save the lives of my men.”

 

“She’s here? The witch who enchanted Leon?”

 

“She’s helping Gaius with the wounded,” Leon said, although the words seemed to come from somewhere else. “I saw her.”

 

He couldn’t seem to draw a steady breath. The air was too hot. It choked him every time his chest expanded to inhale and he wanted to cough or clear his throat. He was about to stand and excuse himself, get some fresh air, when the door opened and Merlin stepped inside. With him came a breath of air so fresh and cool that Leon almost shivered. He took a deep breath and held it, let the cool air sooth him and then let it out again. He would be fine. They would all be fine. Merlin quietly put a tray with food in front of Arthur, but his eyes met Lancelot’s quickly, across the space of the room and Leon hadn’t been the only one to see it.

 

Arthur’s jaw tightened and he snapped, like an angry dragon, “you can go, Merlin and take Lancelot with you. The both of you can go conspiring in dark corners for all I care.”

 

“We never conspire-“

 

“GO!” Arthur seemed about ready to throw the stew in Merlin’s face and Merlin must be an expert in recognizing Arthur’s tempers by now, because he fled, dragging Lancelot with him.

 

“You get kidnapped, Gloria Redwood comes to Camelot, Merlin has magic … what’s next? Gwaine and Elena carrying on a secret romance?”

 

Arthur snorted and tore off a piece of his bread so violently it nearly made Leon wince. “Knock on wood, Leon. That’s the last thing we need, lord Godwyn throwing a fit because his only daughter, the apple of his eye, is marrying a commoner turned knight.”

 

Leon obediently knocked on the table. “I’m sure Gwaine has the proof of his parentage somewhere. You’re not born Gwaine of Lot and then just forget about it.”

 

Arthur’s head snapped up from his meal. “What? Gwaine of what?”

 

“Gwain’s father was a knight at Lot’s court. I met him once and Gwaine carries his sword, which I recognized. Rumour has it that king Lot is Gwaine’s true father.”

 

Arthur dropped the spoon in his bowl and threw himself backwards against his chair. “First Merlin, then Lancelot and now Gwaine.  At least Gwaine wasn’t committing treason.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

Arthur sagged at the question and tiredly shook his head. “I’ve no idea. If Merlin stays in Camelot, while I know that he … I’ll be the one committing treason against my king. But to put him on the pyre, to kill him after everything, it wouldn’t be right.”

 

“You don’t have to arrest him. No one knows. You could let him leave Camelot quietly, let him go back home, to Ealdor,” Leon offered.

 

“I could, but then he’d be gone from me,” Arthur said softly, his eyes cast downward, as if the idea was far too horrible for him to face.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

 

Leon sat with him until the stew was finished and then Arthur let him go to sleep. Slowly, Arthur got to his feet and wriggled his arm out of its sling. His shoulder protested slightly at the weight, but he couldn’t wear it out in public. He’d prefer to fall into bed and sleep until morning. His duty demanded that he go out. His people hadn’t seen him in ages and he’d snuck into his own city like a thief in the night.

 

He went to the kitchen first and thanked cook for sending up stew so late at night. He asked one of the maids to bring him an apple, which he fed to his favourite horse when he visited the stables. He stood petting Broch for at least another ten minutes, to make sure the stablehands had gotten a good look at him before he found Frederik’s brother and gave him the missive for the Southern lords. Next, he took a stroll along the wall, greeting the guards one by one. Some he knew better than others and he stopped to ask them after their health and their families. His next stop was the great hall and never in his imagination had he conceived of the wounded he found.

 

There were many more than he had anticipated. The entire great hall was filled with as many tables, cots and mattresses as it could hold and they were all filled. A few only held figures with the sheets pulled up over their faces. Others had peacefully sleeping men, but some were whimpering and crying and still bleeding. He could see Gloria at the other end of the hall, bent over someone. A soft glow briefly winked at him, as if someone had lit and snuffed out a candle in the same breath. He knew what it was though and looked away, trying to find Gaius in the gloom. The old man was stooped over a patient and as Arthur approached, he could see Gaius was looking up from his own patient every few minutes to glance at the witch working ahead.

 

“Gaius.”

 

“Sire!” Gaius’s voice just a whisper, but still strong enough to express his surprise. “I was not aware that you were … coming … to the hall.”

 

Arthur nodded. “How is everything?”

 

“Things have settled. Your guest is looking at those who I thought were beyond help.”

 

“Yes, my guest, she has the same remarkable skills your apprentice has.” And he nodded at Gloria’s direction at the exact time the orange glow lit up again.

 

Gaius stood silent for a minute. “Merlin has many remarkable skills. He’ll be a fine physician someday, if he keeps up with his studies.”

 

Arthur nodded, although deep inside he wanted to scream and shout. He wanted to confront everyone who had known and ask why them? Why had Merlin told them? Trusted them? All those close to Merlin except for Arthur. He took a deep breath and smiled. “You should get some rest, Gaius. You’ve been working very hard. My guest can take it from here.”

 

He didn’t wait for Gaius’ reply, instead heading towards Gloria. She had one hand resting on the left side of a young soldier’s chest. He could see the edges of the amulet in the space between her fingers and with a muttered hiss, the clear stone shone a bright yellow, far brighter than the soft candle-like glow of before. It almost completely lit up their side of the hall. In the dark that followed, Arthur could see the edges of a smile on her face.

 

“How is everything going?”

 

She shrugged. “I haven’t lost one yet.” She carefully removed her hand and Arthur could see now that the soldier’s chest had been pierced by arrows many times. “This one’s left lung had collapsed. I managed to inflate it again, so his breathing has improved. However” – she leaned down and rested her ear carefully against the right side – “I think his right lung has been pierced.” She straightened and started rummaging in a bag at her feet.

 

“He’s bleeding internally. I’ll have to open him up.”

 

Arthur could feel the blood leach from his face. “ _Open him up?”_

 

She nodded and with one hand cupped the back of the soldier’s head and with the other poured the content of a bottle in his mouth. “This will sedate him nicely. And yes, open him up. It’s a very modern procedure. I’ll cut open his chest and repair the damage inside as I’ll actually be able to see it.” She released the soldier’s head, put down the bottle near his head and gently prodded at his chest. Her eyes glowed brightly. “I think his lung has been damaged too much to repair. The top half is good though, so I think I’ll be able to cut the bottom bit off.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll cut away the damaged pieces and use magic to cauterize shut whatever remains.”

 

“Can you live with one and a half lungs?”

 

“You can live with one lung, if you have to. Less than that becomes tricky.” She pulled a knife from her bag and held it into the flame of a nearby candle. After, she quickly plunged it into a nearby bowl of clean water. Through the haze of smoke, he could see the glint in her eyes and teeth. “You staying for this bit?”

 

He shook his head. “No, I think I’ll leave you to it.”

 

He reminded himself that this had been his idea; that bringing Gloria here was for the best and that while he might not approve of her methods, she would save hundreds of lives. Arthur had an obligation to his people, to do what was best for them and right now, keeping them safe from war and death was his first priority. He slowly crossed the hall, occasionally stopping and saying a word to the people who were conscious. In the half light of candles and burning braziers, he could see Gwen bent over a table, a white sheet in her hand. In one smooth movement, she pulled it over the head of the lifeless body beneath it and Arthur watched as she stood there for a moment. Her shoulders drooped and her head was bent. He wondered if she was crying and the thought made his heart twist into knots.

 

“Gwen.”

 

She looked up, startled, tears on her face and then slowly, very slowly, she smiled. “Arthur!” Her whisper flittered through the hall and a few heads turned in their direction, but Arthur didn’t care. Instead, he pulled her close and embraced her, allowed himself the luxury of breathing in the scent of her hair and appreciate the feel of her; soft and small, in his arms. He could feel her arms wrap around his waist as she trembled against his chest.

 

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but eventually he drew her away into the empty corridor beyond. The torches were lit and in the stronger light of their fire he could see the exhaustion on her face. She was smiling though and the sight was enough to soothe down his anger for just a moment.

“Are you alright?”

 

Gwen gave him a tired, almost incredulous laugh. “Yes, I’m… I’m not hurt, just tired. There’s been so many wounded and dying. But what about you, Arthur, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

 

He smiled. “I’m fine.” And even with his shoulder and the cuts on his back and Merlin’s betrayal; it was true. The sight of her was enough to drown out all those sorrows. “I’m alright. Morgana had me, for a while, but Gwaine and Merlin found me.” He wouldn’t tell her about the magic, about Merlin’s lies now. He was tired and all he wanted to do was hold her. He brushed back a few strands of her hair and then leaned down to kiss her. She leaned back and away.

 

He froze for a few seconds, still leaning forward and down, waiting for a kiss until he slowly straightened and let go of her altogether. The smile on her face had crumpled completely and he didn’t know what was happening.

 

“Gwen, is everything alright?”

 

“I” – her voice was wet and shaky – “I don’t know how to tell you. I didn’t mean…. Lancelot said that I should wait until after the war is over, but I can’t wait, I can’t do this and you deserve to know, you _should_ know and” she stopped abruptly when Arthur interrupted.

 

“Lancelot?”  

 

She nodded and Arthur didn’t know if the tears in her eyes were real or a trick of the light. He weighed his words carefully. “Did something happen?” She seemed lost for words, her hands nervously wringing together and Arthur’s stomach was sinking slowly, slowly into the lowest reaches of his bowels. “Gwen, please just tell me.”

 

“I kissed him.” She looked horrified at herself and one hand reflexively clamped over her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to tell him at all. She opened her mouth to say something else but Arthur just shook his head; he wasn’t sure he’d hear her over the ringing in his ears. The silence that followed reminded him of the silence in Gloria’s cottage, not even the crackle of a fire or the sigh of the wind could be heard.

 

He searched her face and there were tear tracks on her cheeks now. “Do you regret it?”

 

“I,” the words stuttered in her throat. “I regret being untrue to you, Arthur, you deserve so much better.”

 

“But you don’t regret kissing him.”

 

Again, that damning silence.

 

“Do you love him?” He didn’t raise his voice but a part of him wanted to, wanted to shout and rage and yell. The other part of him just hoped that she would say no, that she would swear to be faithful to Arthur. He’d forgive her this, forgive her everything as long as he was the only man in her heart, the only man she loved.

 

“I do.” He almost couldn’t hear her words over the sound of her sob.

 

There were tears pricking behind his own eyes now and he blinked them away. “I thought you loved me.” There was no air in his lungs to shout with. He felt drained and tired. It was too much now, after Merlin, it was too much.

 

“I do!” She hopped forward, as if the anxiety started in her feet and raced up her legs. Her hands fluttered over his chest. “I do! You must believe me. I just… Lancelot… I…..”

 

He stepped further away. “Do you want to be with him?”

 

“I don’t …. We waited so long to be together, Arthur, and I want ….”

 

“What?” He wanted to grab her by the elbows and shake her, but he didn’t. “What is it that you want?”

 

She pressed her eyes closed and tears seeped through underneath her eyelids. “I don’t know.”

 

He looked at her crying, but it wasn’t the sight of her tears that moved him. His chest constricted with the thought that he was losing everything dear to him. He knew his eyes already looked red rimmed because no matter how hard he tried Arthur wasn’t the kind of man who could hide his truest and deepest feelings. “But you do know, don’t you? You kissed Lancelot. You made him a promise that you would tell me and so, you actually promised him that you would leave me.”

 

“Arthur, I…”

 

“Please, don’t, don’t say anything more now. Let’s just…” He looked away. “I thought we were happy.”

 

“We were, I was happy,” she whispered.

 

He nodded and looked at the floor. One of his boots was scuffed on the side. He realized he was still wearing the clothing Gloria had lent him. He looked back at Gwen. Lancelot had abandoned her twice and Arthur’s love and support and patience hadn’t been enough. He would have sacrificed a throne for her and it hadn’t been enough.  

 

“I understand, Gwen.” The smile on his face felt wooden and cracked. “I hope that you and Lancelot are happy together.”

 

She frantically searched his eyes. “You mustn’t blame Lancelot. He’s a good man and a good knight. This is my fault.”

 

It was fitting, wasn’t it? That Lancelot, who’d had Merlin’s trust and friendship would also have Gwen’s love. He nodded. “I understand, Gwen. Now, I should get some rest. I’m riding out early in the morning. You should rest as well. You look dead on your feet.”

 

He stepped away from her touch and her hands grasped after him, as if trying to hold on. “Goodnight, Gwen.”

 

“Arthur…”

 

He turned and walked away.

 

“Arthur!”

 

He didn’t look back and she didn’t call out after him again. It was odd to think that this was how it would end. He’d brought Lancelot back to the city and had given him the one thing Lancelot had always wanted: to be a knight of Camelot. Now Lancelot had taken Gwen from him. Lancelot, who’d known about Merlin’s magic all along and who had introduced the two of them to each other anyway? Merlin. He’d met Lancelot in the woods and then gotten Gwen to fit him out with a suit of armour so Lancelot could pretend to be a knight.

 

Arthur could feel the slow ache in chest morphing into a foul mood and he sought his refuge in anger, as he always did. He was thankful that his chambers were close by. If he happened upon anyone now he might take their head off or worse, make them cry and then Merlin would make him apologize. The thought of Merlin made him scowl and when he wrenched open the door to his chamber he saw red when he realized a fire in the hearth was burning merrily and Merlin was laying out bedclothes on the bed. He stepped inside and slammed the door behind.

 

It was gratifying to see Merlin jump and then look back at him, startled but unafraid. The stubborn frown that had been on his face all day yesterday was back on his brow and Arthur desperately wanted to throw a boot, a goblet, something at it.

 

“What are you still doing here?”

 

Merlin dropped the nightshirt on the bed. “I just wanted to get your things in order. It’s my job.”

 

He wondered if Merlin knew, if Lancelot had told him that Gwen was going to leave Arthur and that was the reason he was still here. Because Merlin had some deluded notion that he was Arthur’s friend and could help him through his heartbreak by making him talk about it. He gritted his teeth together. “I no longer require your services, you may go.”

 

Merlin frowned harder. “Are you sacking me?”

 

“For God’s sake Merlin! Just get out!”

 

Merlin’s frown only deepened and he gave the nightshirt on the bed a little shove, full of resentment, as if he was blaming it for all his troubles. “Shall I polish your armour then, before we go? It’s still in the armoury, from after the tournament, I never got round to it.”

 

He sounded angry and Arthur didn’t know why he kept trying to go on as if nothing had changed between them, as if everything was the same as the night when he won the tournament. It seemed a life time ago. “Will you magic it clean? Shirk your duty as you always do.”

 

“I won’t if you ask me not to.”

 

Arthur resisted the urge to throw the nearest goblet at his face and instead walked towards the small desk, attempting to pull off his shirt as he went. His shoulder wouldn’t obey him though and when he attempted to force it the muscle spasm forced him to his knees. He saw the edge of the desk headed his way and he braced himself for a painful knock on the head when he saw the desk shift back on its own and strong arms, stronger than he would have suspected, caught him.

 

“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice was loud in his ears and he quickly attempted to right himself. But his arm wouldn’t obey him and he had no choice but to allow Merlin to help him to the bed. Once he was sitting upright, Merlin immediately, carefully moved his arm to test it and Arthur winced at the stretch. “I should fetch Gloria. Her salve needs to go on here to loosen the muscle.” Merlin’s voice was low.

 

“Fine,” was his only reply because he couldn’t think of anything to say and he was just too tired and in too much pain to be angry right now. Merlin stood and collected his nightshirt from the bed. Arthur didn’t say a word as Merlin helped him change. The fire crackling was the only sound and Arthur watched listlessly as its light played off Merlin’s hair and cheekbones. All he wanted was sleep.

 

Merlin kneeled by his feet and pulled off one boot. “I’ll go fetch her and then I’ll polish your armour, get everything ready for tomorrow.” His pulled off the other boot. “I won’t use magic if you don’t want me to, Arthur.” He looked up and the left side of his face was completely illuminated, but the right was covered in shadows and Arthur couldn’t even see the dip of skin underneath his cheekbone. His eyes were dark and bottomless. “Everything I’ve ever done, Arthur, was for you.”

 

To Be Continued….


	3. Chapter 3

 

Arthur slept fitfully and dreamed of eyes glowing in the dark, fire bursting to life with no kindling or match and a cool hand clutching at his own. He startled awake right before dawn by the crack of a whip in his dreams and no matter how much he tossed or turned; he couldn’t lie comfortably. He decided to rise and slowly, carefully struggled into his shirt. His arm was still weak and he definitely wouldn’t be able to swing a sword in two days’ time. Thank God his old quartermaster had insisted on training his left arm and Arthur had taken over the habit for his own knights.

 

He’d just finished struggling into his trousers and was contemplating how to tackle his boots when the door to his room creaked open. He wasn’t sure if he should be angry or relieved that it was Gloria instead of Merlin closing the door behind her. She laid her bag on the table.

 

“I thought you’d still be sleeping,” she said and came to help him with his boots.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Merlin sent me to wake you as I had to look at your shoulder anyway. He’s getting you breakfast.” Her hands were soft, but the sharp tug to make sure his boots were fitted properly jarred his shoulder anyway.

 

“How are the men?”

 

She stood and the cold light of morning served to highlight the circles under her eyes when he looked up into her face. She seemed tired, but solid; not as worn and rundown as most people Arthur had seen caring for the wounded. She was wearing the same dress she’d worn when they left her cottage; a blue slim skirt and sleeveless bodice tied at the front. She wore a white, long-sleeved shift underneath. “Most of them made it. Some will even make a full recovery, but I’m not sure many of them will be able to return and properly work as a farmer or a blacksmith or whatever they were.”

 

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “At least they are alive.”

 

Her eyes were hooded when they looked down on him. “For you, I assume, that must seem like a virtue. Plenty of men though wouldn’t trade their livelihood for their lives.”

 

Arthur wanted to sigh; it was too early in the morning to argue with Gloria. They’d been arguing all the way from her cottage to Camelot and he wanted some measure of peace. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? “Their wives, daughters and sisters will be happy enough for them.”

 

She shrugged. “Maybe, but men often don’t feel like men when they are burdens on an already burdened family.”

 

Arthur looked at her in amazement. “I doubt their families would consider them burdens.”

 

She shrugged again and went to fetch her bag. “You don’t know what’s it like to be poor, Arthur, and idle hands only you make poorer.”

 

“They were injured fighting for their country, they wouldn’t be _idle_.”

 

She reached out to help him remove his shirt and Arthur wondered why he’d even bothered to put on the damn thing. He was tired of being dressed and manhandled like a small child. When Merlin did it, he did it as Arthur’s manservant, not as his carer or babysitter. He needed to recover and fast. He needed to swing his arm and cut down his enemies. He needed to be strong.  

 

“Injured or idle, doesn’t matter, those hands can’t work to feed you or your children.” She took a jar of salve from her bag and set to rub it in his shoulders. “You should have let me do this last night too.”

 

He wanted to shrug her off. “Those men risked their lives so that others might be free from rape, plunder and murder. They have earned the right to be cared for.”

 

Her hands were smooth with only the echo of callouses against his skin. She raised an empirical eyebrow at him. “Cared for? By who?”

 

She must be bating him deliberately. She liked to. He had noticed that habit; poking and pushing and prodding at him and all the vulnerable corners she thought he had. “By their families! Who else?”

 

“They fought for you and if you feel so strongly about it, why don’t you care for them?”  She snapped at him and pulled at his shoulder almost roughly, but not roughly enough to jar his injuries. Sometimes she touched him like he wasn’t even human; like she wasn’t laying her hands on a man of flesh or blood but on a stump of wood or metal in need of a carpenter or a blacksmith. 

 

“I - ” He hesitated. The thought had never crossed his mind; families had always been responsible for providing for soldiers returned from war. Even if they couldn’t.  “I wouldn’t know how.” The realisation startled him. He’d never given it much thought. Things were the way they were because they’d always been that way and it was only because of…. Because of Merlin that he’d even begun to question the little every-day rules of his life.  

 

“Well, you’re their king; educated and surrounded by learned advisors. If you can’t figure it out, how can you expect them to? Besides, isn’t it your duty to care for them?” She pulled her hands away. “Let that dry. Don’t put the shirt back on.”

 

“You sound like Merlin,” Arthur said and he didn’t know whether he meant her severely lacking healer’s manners or her opinion of his duty.

 

She snorted. “Merlin? Please; if I start swooning left and right over all your virtues and proclaim how much _faith_ I have in you, please just put me out of my misery.”

 

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. She made him stand up and passed her hands over his back. The injuries there were all healing, but the heat of her hand made them itch. She then carefully rotated his shoulders to test the feel and mobility. She was frowning.

 

“Everything alright?” He didn’t want to admit it, but the frown made him anxious. She frowned every time he opened his mouth to speak, but not when handling his injuries. Her pride seemed to prevent her from frowning over matters of the body.

 

She mumbled something under her breath and her eyes flared gold for a moment and he could see, briefly, a flash of gold, spidery veins, muscles and bones hover over his shoulder. She rotated his shoulder again, but pushed harder on the joint and he couldn’t hide the wince or how his knees buckled under the pain. She caught him, her grip strong and secure.

 

“What was that?” His breath was shallow and he took a deep lungful of air to even it out.

 

“You should use your left arm during battle, if you can.” Her voice was soft, even if it never really lost that hard edge. “The damage to the muscle is severe. If you strain it too hard you might damage it permanently.”

 

“Damaged how?”

 

“Your swing will probably never be as strong as it was, but I’m mostly worried about your range.” She pushed his arm upward. “Notice how the muscles spasm and contracts when you reach high up?” She nudged him further, just enough for him to feel the warning twinge but not more.  

 

There was a knock on the door and she lowered his arm to his side. He stopped her from reaching for her bag. “Not a word about that to anyone.”

 

Her face took on a neutral, placid façade and she stepped back. “A healer and her patient share the strictest confidentiality.”

 

He snorted and turned to the door. “Come in,” he turned to pick up his shirt and motioned for her to help him into it.

 

Merlin was carefully balancing the breakfast tray while Leon held his arm pressed against the door to hold it open for him. The breakfast tray was filled with sausage, eggs, toast and a pitcher of juice and Merlin carefully put it on the table although he couldn’t stop a little bit of juice sloshing over the edge. He quickly mopped it up with one the napkins he’d brought with him. He seemed to be ignoring them and Arthur both wanted him to look up and to keep staring at the tray. Instead, he looked at Leon who was dressed in standard armour.

 

“Sire,” Leon said and inclined his head in a small bow. “Preparations are under way. We should be ready to leave in an hour’s time.”

 

“Excellent,” Arthur said when his left arm found the appropriate sleeve and Gloria smoothed the shirt down over chest. “Preparations for the field hospital?”

 

“We’ve taken the largest tent we have out of storage and we are taking as many cots as we can. Bandages and blankets have been divided between the needs of Camelot and the battle field. We’ve taken on extra provisions now that we’ll be sustaining injured men near the field as well.”

 

Gloria had taken her bag from the floor and Arthur turned to her when Leon finished. “What about herbs? Medicines?”

 

She didn’t look away from his face when she spoke: “I still have one saddlebag left with supplies from my cottage. I brewed some extra in Gaius’ workshop before light this morning. We’ve also discussed the appropriate measures taken in field hospitals and we’ve taken as much from his supply as we dare. We’ll be passing through the forest on the way though, I suggest that either myself or Merlin go to collect more herbs while we travel.”

 

“Merlin will do it. Have Gwaine come with you.”

 

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Merlin said. He stood there, tall and still as if Arthur hadn’t turned away from him the night before.

 

“Right, you can take of yourself, can’t you?” His voice wasn’t as harsh as he wanted it to be. He sounded tired and old.

 

Merlin simply nodded. “I’ll go see to your armour.”

 

“And my horses,” Arthur said. “Make sure Gloria has a horse.” He turned his head slightly so he could see her. “You can sit a horse by yourself, can’t you?”

 

She rolled her eyes at him and straightened the shirt with a vicious snap of her fingers. “Of course I can.”

 

He grinned and he didn’t bother hiding his malice. “Don’t be offended, most of the common folk can’t sit a horse.”

 

For a woman so proud of her heritage and ancestry; she managed to keep her temper at the insult to her line. The only sign of her anger was the flinty look in her eyes and Arthur was certain he was the only one standing close enough to see it.

 

Merlin cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be off.”

 

“I should go too,” Gloria said and quickly followed Merlin out the door. Leon didn’t look at her and if he leaned away when she passed him, Arthur didn’t feel the need to comment.

 

“What of the city?” Arthur asked as he passed Leon on his way to the table. He sat down for breakfast and ignored the sling hanging over the chair-back.

 

Leon went to stand at attention, but Arthur waved at him to sit down. “Lancelot’s roster seems solid and there are enough men to hold the city for weeks if need be.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Yes, we can trust Lancelot to keep people safe for us, can’t we?”

 

“Sire?” Leon looked wary and Arthur shook himself. This was neither the time nor the place and he wasn’t in the habit of spraying his girlish feelings all over the place. He wasn’t Merlin, for Christ’s sake, who couldn’t contain his tears at the sight of a dead rabbit.

 

“What about the food supply?” He crunched on some bacon and realized that Merlin must have begged cook for it from the stores or lied about Arthur wanting it specifically. They were low on bacon after the many guests they’d entertained after the tournament. He didn’t want to feel pleased.

 

“We’re low, unfortunately, but some of the refugees from the outlying villages managed to bring in food and livestock, so we should be fine. I should also mention that Amadis de Gaul has requested to come to the battlefield and fight in your name. He wants to pledge an oath of fealty after the war and remain in Camelot, with your blessing.”

 

Arthur blinked. “Really? Wouldn’t his lord object?”

 

“He’s nobility from Gaul.  He has the crest and the training to back it up, but his family lost their lands to the Romans long ago and Amadis’s father chose exile over swearing allegiance to the emperor.”

 

Arthur snorted. “There is no emperor in Rome, just some jumped up general who pretends to be a descendent of Caesar to claim the purple. If Amadis wants to fight for us, he can although you can tell that I prefer to keep a knight of his calibre at Camelot in case the war comes here. I can’t promise him lands or wealth, but he will always have a place here in Camelot.”

 

“I think securing a place in Camelot will be reward enough.” There was a small twitch near Leon’s mouth; a sign of humour. He almost looked smug.

 

Arthur grinned and for the first time since he’d woken up, felt some measure of good humour. “I’m sure I don’t need you to tell me why.”

 

Leon shook his head and his eyes crinkled with mirth. “No, Sire, I trust so. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to some last minute preparations.”

 

Arthur excused him and slowly finished his breakfast. There was no fire in the grate and he resisted the urge to crawl underneath the warm blankets to fight off the chill pervading the room. He should have told Merlin to light a small fire in the grate. He stared at his plate, partially empty now. He usually let Merlin have his left overs. Sometimes Gwen brought him breakfast and they’d sit and talk and eat together.

 

He rested his hands on the table and slowly curled them into fist. It was better to be angry than heartbroken. It was hard though, to be angry at Gwen and far too easy to be angry with Lancelot, to be… jealous. He tightened his fists. Merlin, on the other hand, it was easy to be angry with Merlin. With his ears and his neckerchief and his <i>uselessness</i>; that made it easy. It was easy.

 

Merlin returned from the armoury and Arthur steadfastly refused to look at him as the armour was strapped on. When Merlin finished, Arthur walked out without a word. He went to the stables and collected his horse, already saddled and waiting. A second one was waiting by its side; the one Merlin usually rode. The sight of it made him falter, but only for a second.

 

The marching footmen and the carts assembled at the city gates, but the few cavalry knights gathered at the square in front of the citadel. Someone had found Gloria a steed, as per his orders. He preferred to have her near the front to keep an eye on her. She was standing near Merlin, holding on to the reins of her horse, and they seemed to be having a furiously whispered discussion. Leon stood as a beacon of calm in the chaos, directing riders on where to stand. His squire, Neville, was holding on the reins of their horses. Some of the knights were saying goodbye to sweethearts and Arthur could spot several favours tied into chinks of chainmail.

 

“Thank you for waving us off, Lady Elena. I’m sorry I didn’t speak with you last night.”

 

Elena looked pale and her smile was a bit strained at the edges, but her grip on his arm didn’t lack any strength. “Don’t worry about it, Arthur, you had more important things to see to. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

 

He inclined his head and with a firm squeeze of her hand, descended the stairs to his mount. The stable boy didn’t look him in the eyes, but bowed differentially. Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. This was how servants were supposed to act. They were supposed to come and go and leave well enough alone. They weren’t supposed to look at you or talk back at you or make you want to be a better man or make you love them. None of that rubbish.

 

“Dear Sir, I thank you for your protection, for laying your valour, strength and courage at the service of this great land.” Elena’s voice was clear and rang out over the din. “Would you honour me to wear my favour into battle and keep me close to your heart?”

 

The sight of Elena braiding one of her lovely blue ribbons into the chainmail at Gwaine’s chest would now be permanently seared across his brain.

 

Gwaine’s raspy rumbled reply reached just as far Elena’s clear tones, because the whole courtyard had gone as silent as a tomb. “The honour is all mine, lady.”

 

Arthur turned away to mount his horse and very carefully did not look at Leon as he did so.

 

To Be Continued….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I apologize for updating so late. Life exploded on me unexpectedly and I haven't had the time to sit down and update this thing. From now on though, I am hoping to update every week. I just need to edit the chapters as I go along as they're already written except for the last few. Hopefully, there won't be any massive delays like the last few weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

 

There was something fundamentally wrong with watching Arthur ride at the front, alone, without Merlin half a foot away chattering his ear off. In fact, there was something wrong all together with the silence and the pinched look on Merlin’s face. Arthur didn’t look much better either. His face looked like a smooth slab of stone; every expression carefully hidden. But his distress was plain if you knew where to look; in the red of his eyes and the creases around his mouth. But there was nothing Gwaine could do or say that would make it better. There was no space for anyone else between Arthur and Merlin.

 

The company was called to a halt and Gwaine sighed in relief. They had five minutes to water the horses and stretch their legs. Gwaine was lucky he was used to long days on a horse. He spotted one or two squires grimacing as they wobbled about bow-legged. Most of the army were footmen though; farmers, barmen, blacksmiths, tailors, cooks and some too young to even have a profession or be apprenticed anywhere. They took the five minutes to sit down and rest their feet, or have a quick bite of something they brought from home.

 

“I’m going to gather herbs with Gloria,” Merlin said. His voice was low and scratchy.

 

Gwaine grimaced. “Do you need me to come?”

 

“I can handle her.”

 

“Thank you for the show of faith, both of you,” Gloria sneered at them.

 

There was no heat behind any of it, Gwaine knew. Merlin was too grateful for Arthur’s life and Gloria too guilty about Leon. He could tell in the way she looked at Leon when he couldn’t see her and the way she, inevitably, looked away when he turned to meet her gaze. She seemed afraid, almost, of his eyes, of his touch, of his very being and yet, hopelessly drawn closer. She couldn’t face her guilt, but it ate away at her, nonetheless. She hid it well, underneath her prickly pride and brusque manners, but Gwaine could see it, like he could see the guilt that marked Lancelot and Gwen, Arthur and Merlin.

 

It was just easier to pretend, for everybody. They disappeared into the forest among the foragers and Gwaine watched them go. When he turned to tend to his horse, he nearly jumped out of his skin to find Leon standing _right behind him._ He was looking after Gloria and Merlin, a frown on his face. Gwaine chose not to say anything.

 

They re-mounted when the call came and in the ensuing bustle, Merlin and Gloria ended up somewhere in the back while Gwaine ended up riding next to Leon. He was sure that wasn’t coincidence. Gwaine didn’t mind Leon; he had a dry sense of humour and was easy to talk to. He was reliable and loyal and he could play the politics of court, which meant the rest of them didn’t have to. Although, Leon might have to teach him the basics. He reached up to touch the ribbon on his chest. The silk was soft, softer than the ribbon she’d given him for the tournament. He still had that one hidden in his pack and it was slightly stiff now, with washing and handling. He puffed up his chest when he caught Leon looking. Leon was too dignified to roll his eyes, but Gwaine knew he wanted to on the inside.

 

“Stop playing around with it.”

 

Gwaine grinned. “You make it sound so dirty.”

 

“Don’t be disgusting. I don’t want to die with that image seared into my brain.”

 

“You should be so lucky,” Gwaine said and clenched his hands around the reigns so he wouldn’t reach up for it again. But Leon knew, as he always knew everything.

 

“Does her father know?”

 

Gwaine shrugged. “She said she’d handle him and I’ll wager he knows now whether she did or not.”

 

Leon nodded, thoughtfully. “I suppose, after that display. You certainly surprised everyone.” And yet, somehow Gwaine had the sense that Leon hadn’t been nearly as surprised as the others had been. Leon looked at him. “You’re not afraid of his reaction?”

 

“For her sake,” Gwaine answered truthfully. Elena loved her father. She was devoted to him and cared for him. It would hurt her feelings if Godwyn disapproved of her choice, but Gwaine had made his vows and Elena had promised him. “Elena knows her own mind. She won’t throw me over on his account. I don’t think.”

 

“You could always just come clean about who you are.”

 

Gwaine wasn’t surprised Leon knew. Leon knew everything. It would be tiring, if it wasn’t reassuring. “I could.”

 

“No one would think any less of you, or more for that matter.”

 

Gwaine laughed. “I’d drink to that.” He turned his face into the sunlight and closed his eyes. “I’m not a noble man’s son. I’m a scoundrel raised on the road, made knight because I was lucky. I’m loyal to my friends first, to my prince second and to my king not at all. I drink too much and pay for my drinks with money that isn’t mine. That’s who I am.”

 

Leon laughed and Gwaine grinned into the sun. The horse moved in a steady pace underneath him. He was marching to war, but today was a good day. When he straightened up, he had to blink the spots from his vision and the glare of Arthur’s freakishly blonde head nearly blinded him. He was alone at the front and it reminded Gwaine that Merlin’s absurdly large ears weren’t up there with him.

 

“Merlin should be up there,” Gwaine said.

 

“You think so?”

 

Gwaine shrugged. “My friends first and my prince second.”

 

“Arthur _is_ my friend,” Leon said. His voice was slightly strained and Gwaine remembered that Leon and Arthur had been young boys together, pages and squires and all the stages of knighthood. Gwane had Merlin, but by that token, Leon had Arthur. Leon sighed. “Did you know? About Merlin?”

 

“Not until Arthur went missing. Did you?”

 

“No, not until his little trick with the fireplace, which was probably for the best. If I’d known, I would have had to tell Arthur and he would not have been happy.”

 

“I’d say, he did not take it well. There was shouting and the very visible urge to throw things.”

 

Leon snorted. “He looked like that, last night when he was giving orders. I thought he’d get up and strangle Lancelot, busted arm or no. I’d hate to be Lancelot right now.”

 

“It didn’t come to that, with Merlin. Gloria calmed him down, or forced him to, anyway. Although I think he shouted at her too.”

 

“She did try to kill the king.”

 

“I think he was mostly shouting about you.”

 

Leon fell silent and didn’t say another word until they made camp. They’d marched all day at a brisk pace to Vortigern’s keep. The ruins of the old keep stood proud on the single, solitary hill, but its shadows seemed friendly, almost welcoming. Most of the footmen grouped together in larger tents or slept underneath the naked sky. All the knights had their own tent and Arthur had his great pavilion unfurled. Campfires were lit and braziers stood like beacons lining out the perimeter.

 

Gwaine allowed Winfred, one of the older pages, to take the reins of his horse. He’d decided to leave Terrance behind in Camelot. The boy’s father might think a little bit of battle would straighten him out, but Gwaine would put money on Terrance feinting away and falling onto an axe. So, he’d tracked down an eager page to take with him to battle in between his non-sleeping hours, most of which were spent in Elena’s company; holding her hand like a young boy and almost afraid to ask for a kiss.

 

“I had no idea you and the Lady Elena were courting, sir,” Winfred said.

 

“I’m sure no one was supposed to know, right Sir Gwaine?” Neville’s grin was definitely improper, but Gwaine let it slide. Neville was a man, now after all. He’d killed men in battle and everything.

 

“Shouldn’t you boys be grooming horses and keeping your mouths shut like good little squires?” Gwaine asked.

 

Neville blinked. “How would you know? You’ve never been a squire.” He must have learned that blink from Leon because there was mirth hidden there in a single flicker.

 

Winfred, however, blushed to the roots of his hair and looked absolutely scandalized at the clear reference to Gwain’s supposed peasanthood. Gwained simply laughed because Leon was right; he’d prove his heritage soon enough and then they’d be whispering about the rumour that Lot was his father instead of a random farmer in the north.

 

He clapped Winfred on the back and left him to it. Arthur had called a meeting in the grand pavilion and if Merlin was going to be there, Gwaine didn’t want to be late.

 

“The southern lords should have been here by now,” Leon was saying when Gwaine entered the tent and noticed that Merlin was absent.

 

Arthur shook his head. “They’ll be here.  They won’t ignore a call with the royal seal if they know what’s good for them.”

 

Gwaine looked outside. “Is that what the lightshow outside is about? A little display of power?”

 

Arthur bared his teeth and gestured to the luxurious rugs on the floor and the wooden throne he was sitting on. “A little display never hurt anyone.” He stood slowly. His arm was back in the sling, which he didn’t wear while the army could see him. He joined them at the table, where a huge map was spread out; stopped from rolling up by goblets and a stray dagger. He laid his finger on the river Thaus.

 

“So far, it seems that Bayard held the truce or Elyan held the river. We’re running out of time and men. The coming battle has to be a short one.”

 

Leon gestured at the map. “We know that Bayard holds the northern bank two leagues in each direction at least.”

 

“That means the ford to the Northern Plains is probably still free. If a separate force can cross the river there and go through the plain. Bayard will be caught between us.”

 

Leon shook his head. “He’ll have spies in place to warn him. A small force would be caught off guard and we can’t afford to send a larger group with no assured victory.”

 

Gwaine looked over the map. There didn’t seem to be any bridges or ferries marked, but then again, not all bridges or ferries were marked on a map. “And there’s nowhere else to cross the river?”

 

“Not close enough for our forces to strike simultaneously,” Arthur said.  “We need to smash him; catch him between hammer and anvil. If our timing is off, he might be able to retreat and prolong this war. We’ve already lost enough men, crops and livestock. We can’t allow this to go on much longer. Our victory has to be quick and thorough.”

 

“What about fishing villages? Most of them have evacuated, but their boats must still be there. We could commandeer a few.” Gwaine didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with boats, but how hard could it be?

 

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. His fingers tapped against the map’s parchment. He turned to Leon. “Do we know if the villages are still intact?”

 

Leoin pointed at the map. “These two were burned down almost completely before we got here. There is a little hamlet about two leagues to the west. It’s new and tiny. It’s not on any of our maps and it is possible that Bayard doesn’t even know it exists.”

 

“Alright, Gwaine, take a company of 200 men; the best sharp shooters we have. If you can leave within the hour you could cross the river before sunrise. See if there’s anyone who knows the terrain among the ranks. It’ll go faster if we have a guide, or anyone who has experience with a boat.”

 

His eyes darted over the map. He looked focused; like he belonged; a war general and hero on the front lines. “When the southern lords get here, we’ll divide our forces. Leon will take one force and approach the battle from the east. I’ll take the largest force and meet Bayard head on when we join with Elyan’s forces. We attack at dawn. We’re not giving Bayard any chance to rally his forces.”

 

“We’ve made Ampthill our main camp. We should set up the hospital there. It’s close enough to the field of battle but not too close in case we need to retreat,” Leon offered.

 

“Is it defendable?”

 

“It is if we can hold the bank, but the river is our only natural barrier and there’s no higher ground. If need be, we can retreat through the forest of Asciter, or use the ridge for cover.” Leon gestured at the map and Gwaine noticed the dotted line. A small village had been drawn on the other side of it, but he couldn’t make out the writing.

 

Gwaine frowned. “Will we be safe so close to Cenred’s lands?”

 

“Cenred’s dead,” and Arthur’s smile was slightly unsettling, “and his people hold no allegiance to him. The closest village is Ealdor. They’re loyal to Camelot. We could probably evacuate the wounded there, if we have to.”

 

“Right, Merlin’s from Ealdor, isn’t he?” Gwaine asked; a look of such sheer innocence on his face Leon knew it wasn’t innocent at all.

 

Arthur just glared at him, the whole of him stony and unwieldy. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

 

Gwaine shrugged. “Sure, I’ll see you two at sunrise.”

 

He left the tent and lifting the tent flap let it in a burst of cold air and some of the candles went out. A young stablehand quickly went to light them and the ensuing silence was almost painful. Arthur’s muscles were tense and Leon wanted to say something about Merlin and loyalty and trails by fire, but didn’t find the words. Sometimes, he felt that he stood closest to Arthur; a true friend and companion. At other times, he felt like he barely knew the man who would be his King.

 

Leon cleared his throat. “Shall I patrol the pickets, sire? The lords from the south should be here soon. They deserve a welcoming a party.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Yes, they certainly do.”

 

Leon left the tent to do his duty and knew that, even with that stablehand lighting the candles, he was leaving Arthur entirely on his own.

 

To Be Continued


	5. Interlude

It was a warm night, when the wind lay still. Leon stood in the dark. A torch was planted a few feet on his left and another on his right. The light of the camp burned a flickering orange a few feet behind him and he could hear the wind as well as the faint sounds of men talking, turning on their bedrolls and roasting their supper. He heard the rustle of her skirt catch on the grass, but he thought it was a cloak or the wind until he turned around. 

“What are you doing here?” 

There were goosebumps on the bare skin of her arms and she seemed to shiver in the wind. He didn’t know why she didn’t wear a cloak. Gloria stepped closer, and he didn’t step back even though he wanted to. 

“I was looking for you.” 

“Why?” 

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” 

He put his hand on his sword and her eyes flickered down, catching the move. He left his hand there and she looked back up, into his eyes. Her shoulders straightened; as if she was steeling herself. She hadn’t looked at him like that since he’d held his sword at her throat in Camelot; in Arthur’s chambers.

“You won’t need that.” 

He inclined his head. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not inclined to take your word on that.” 

She stepped closer again. “If there’s anything about me you can trust; it’s my word.” 

He smiled pleasantly. “You want me to take you on your word that your word is worth anything, but for me to take on your word that your word has worth I’d already have to trust your word.” 

She grinned; a display of teeth that seemed almost violent. “Arthur took it.” 

“Arthur took it because whatever might be going on between them now, he trusts Merlin to keep you in line. I don’t see Merlin anywhere.” 

She shrugged, but looked away from his face for the first time. “He doesn’t have to be here for this.” 

“This?” 

She frowned and looked back up at him. “I need to talk to you. I need to ... apologize.” 

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t remove his hand from his sword either. She stepped closer again and she was only an arm’s length away now. If he reached out his left hand, he could cup her shoulder, draw her closer or push her away, maybe even shove her down to the ground. He tightened his grip around the handle, to keep him grounded. He didn’t say anything. 

“I want to explain to you. Why I did what I did.” Her voice was terse, almost brusque, as if this was an inconvenience. She sounded like she wanted to be anywhere else. 

“You mean you want to justify your actions.” 

“Some of my actions are justifiable. Not all of them.” Her eyes cut away briefly; flitted to the dark around them until they landed back on his face. “What I did to you was inexcusable. It was vile and … reprehensible. The end does not justify the means, I know that now. But when I first came to Camelot, I was angry.” 

“And that excuses it, does it?” His voice was like the crack of the whip. He hadn’t come close in losing his temper since he was a boy only weeks out of short breeches. He calmed himself down. 

“Some of it, yes,” she said. 

“You told Arthur, at your trial, that Uther deserved the pyre more than you did. Is that your excuse, then?”

“Uther Pendragon is a monster. He’s killed hundreds of my people, who were guilty of nothing except being born as what they were. He does not discriminate in his hatred; men, women, children…. It’s all the same to him. He’s wiped out entire clans, families. But because he is a king, he is beyond reproach. I simply took matters into my own hands.” 

“Not quite your own hands, though, were they?” 

She shook her head and she looked angry again, frustrated. “If you would just listen.”

“Why should I? I am not beholden to you in any way. I do not have to listen to you justify what you did to me. I owe you nothing; least of all a chance at forgiveness or redemption or whatever it is you want of me.” 

“I’m not trying to justify what I did to you!” Her raised voice almost echoed and Leon could hear a voice of the guard in the distance call out and he shouted back that all was well. It had not been a cry for help or warning for an ambush; just an angry girl. 

She took a deep breath. “Uther killed my parents and he’s killed hundreds of my people. I wanted to kill Uther and I thought it would be easy. After all, rumours abound that he was sick and had finally succumbed to being elderly. But when I arrived in Camelot, I realized that he was locked away in the citadel; like a poorly kept secret.” 

“I couldn’t reach him on my own. If I’d found work at the keep, things might have been different but I was turned down because I did not have a reference. That’s when I thought of using someone with access to the citadel. I’m not proud of that. I wanted justice and revenge and I thought that they were one and the same. I thought that as long as whoever did it, did not remember doing it, they could go on living guilt free because in the end, it was I that had forced their hand. I did not consider anything else.” 

She looked him in the eyes as she spoke and he did not loosen his grip on his sword. 

“That night, in the Singing Hedgehog, it was coincidence it was you,” her voice was thick. “You liked me and you stayed behind when the others had gone. You came up with me and we were alone and I…. I knew I wouldn’t have another chance like this. You were a guard; not only that, but you were close to Arthur. You had access to every part of the citadel. They wouldn’t question you and you wouldn’t question it. You’d never know and I thought that would be enough.” 

“But I got caught and almost executed. If Merlin hadn’t found you and if you hadn’t been so foolish as to go after Uther yourself, I would be dead right now.” 

“Going after Uther was not foolish,” she snapped at him. “Everyone was busy with the remains of the tavern. The citadel was nearly empty. If Merlin hadn’t realized what I was doing, Uther would be dead, Arthur would be king and you would be fine. He’d have pardoned you.” 

“You don’t know Arthur. All the evidence pointed to me and there were witnesses. He might have been convinced of my innocence but he couldn’t prove it and it would have looked like an abuse of power. He would not have pardoned me. And what then?”

“I would have come back for you. I would have turned myself in.” 

“Really?” 

“I don’t know.” Her voice was quiet and she couldn’t look at him. 

“I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.” 

She looked up again and stared directly into his eyes. “Everything I’ve said to you tonight is true.” 

He didn’t speak and neither did she. They stood there, in the half darkness. He could catch the light of the torches in her hair. She was almost as tall as he was. He’d forgotten that. In the weeks he spent searching for her and in his nightmares, he’d forgotten how tall she was. He’d remembered the particular shade of her hair, the smoothly rounded curve of her cheek, the straight line of her neck, the pleasing sweep of her bosom and the almost angular jut of her hip. But he’d forgotten her height. He didn’t know why. 

“I’m sorry it was you,” she said suddenly into the silence. “I don’t know if that makes anything better or worse, but if I’d had my pick, I wouldn’t have picked you. I would have picked anyone but you.” 

“Why?”

She didn’t answer and they didn’t speak again for a time. Eventually, she sighed and turned around. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I’ve said all I want to say.”

“Have you? Why did you come here? What did you think you’d gain by telling me all of this?” 

She shrugged. “I wanted to tell you because I thought you should know.” 

He watched her walk away until she was swallowed up by the mass of tents and cooking fires. He turned back to the forests and the fields; torches on either side of him and he stared into the dark. 

 

To Be Continued …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm really sorry about the massive delay. I want to thank you all for your lovely comments and reassure you that this will be finished. In fact, as I'll be leaving the night shift soon, I will be posting with more regularity because I finally have the time to do all the editing required.


	6. Chapter 6

Elyan had been lucky so far. The foraging parties had managed to find enough food to sustain them for a few days. They’d even been able to roast fresh meat and for once the camp had been loud with the crackle of fire, the hiss of roasting fat and drunk, well-fed laughter. The men sounded cheerful and battle seemed far away. It was surreal; the stars twinkling almost merrily overhead and he stared at the wall of darkness rising up beyond their circle of light. Even the stillness of deep night seemed calm and sanguine. Finding joy on the brink of death kept the fear at bay. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

The next day dawned cold and grey, with a sprinkle of mist floating over the ground. Elyan missed the sunshine of the last few days. It made things seem less grim, somehow, more hopeful. He went on with his duties anyway. Most of the lightly wounded had recovered and they’d been going over the distribution of the swords and armour left behind by the heavily wounded. They’d also managed to dig a ditch a few miles behind the river. It was another line of defence in case they had to retreat and kept the men busy instead of twiddling their thumbs and losing their courage. They’d cleaned up the ruins of the village, using the blackened beams as support for a make-shift hospital tent. He’d sent out a few skirmish forces to make sure that the truce was respected, but so far Cadarn Afon remained unoccupied and none of Bayard’s forces had crossed the river Thaus to Ampthill. The picket lines were kept secure and Elyan thought that it must be all luck for Bayard to keep his word and hold the truce.

Leon should be on his way back by now and if Elyan’s luck held, he would bring back news from Arthur. Or better yet, Arthur himself and the men promised by lords who were tardy in keeping their vows. Elyan wasn’t sure they would be able to win the war without more men. He didn’t doubt the courage of the common man, having been one himself, but he doubted their skill and their numbers. Camelot was fighting with only half its forces while its great and vast army had been a key bargaining chip in the negotiations with Mercia. Bayard might have used the truce to send for reinforcements, or make alliances with other enemies of Camelot. If war arrived on another border, Camelot was doomed. Elyan knew enough of politics to realize that if Camelot so much as seemed wobbly, other nations would hasten to topple her. 

“Say what you want about Uther, at least he favoured peace,” Elyan said. 

“Not a bad trait in a king,” Percival agreed. 

It was a warm night when the wind was still, but the slightest breeze could cut through cloak, mail, gambeson, skin and bone. The fires in the camp flickered, but were big enough to withstand the assault. The smoke of the fires drifted low on the air; its pervading smell a comfort by now. Elyan pulled his cloak closer together. He’d take first night watch, in a bit.

“Where do you think you would be now?” Elyan asked. “If you hadn’t met Lancelot and come to Camelot?” 

Percival shrugged his massive shoulders. “Wandering about Albion, on my own, probably. Or I might have gone back home by now, if I was still alone. Back to my mother and my sister, hiding from the world.” He seemed pensive. “If I live through this, I might go back to bring her to Camelot.” 

Elyan raised his eyebrows. “A sister? Really? 

Percival gave him the side-eye. “Aye, but she won’t be coming anywhere near you; any of you. Might be better to leave her in the forest after all.” 

“You don’t trust your brothers in arms with your sister?” 

He snorted. “I wouldn’t trust any one knight with my sister. You’re all drunks and scoundrels.” 

Elyan laughed. “That’s a bit harsh. Leon, for one, is an upstanding bloke and I trust Arthur with my sister.” 

“That’s because Arthur is your prince and he could have you beheaded. Leon is as honourable as the day is long, but I suspect he’s a far craftier fox than he lets on.” 

Percival grinned and Elyan had to laugh; because it was true.

“How about you? Where would you be?” 

Elyan shrugged and poked the fire. “Dead, probably, I wasn’t getting out of Cenred’s dungeon alive. But if he hadn’t caught me, I’d probably be working as a blacksmith somewhere. I’d still be trying to find a place to make my own; to belong.” 

“If you wanted to belong, why did you leave home in the first place?” 

“Why did you?” 

Percival smiled ruefully. “Because I didn’t belong, not even at home.” He poked the fire and his stick collided with Elyan’s. They engaged in a mock battle, batting stick against stick and Percival’s smile was like a little boy’s. “My mother didn’t want to me to leave. She begged me. But I couldn’t live my life with just her and Dindrane, my sister. I didn’t belong in the woods, with just them and the animals for company. There was more out there and I had to see it. I had to find it.” 

Elyan nodded, because he understood. “I didn’t belong either, or I thought I didn’t. Gwen and father, they were fine in Camelot. They were happy, but I felt like something was missing. I wanted more than scraping by making pots and pans and doing a lady’s washing. I thought if I left Camelot, I could start over and be more than a poor blacksmith’s son. But everywhere I went, I could only get by as a blacksmith. If I hadn’t gone back to Camelot, I’d still be wandering.” 

He poked the fire a few times. “It’s different now, though. When I left, I was a poor man’s son and that’s all I was. But now, I’m a blacksmith and I’m also a knight. When I speak, I’m heard. I follow orders, but I can also give orders. I belong to something that is greater than I am. I belong to Camelot, but she also belongs to me.”

“If I had a cup of ale on me, I’d drink to that.” Percival took a drink from a flagon. “Because this isn’t worth the time it’ll take to piss back out.” He passed it on to Elyan anyway. “I know what you mean, “though. When I met Lancelot, I thought that I was finally on my way to glory. But everywhere we went, we could only find work as stablehands, or farmers or sell-swords. There was no honour out there, in the wild. When we heard about trouble in Camelot, Lancelot insisted we go help.”

“I didn’t think it’d make a difference. I thought Camelot would be just like any other place and its nobles just like any other nobles. But Arthur, when we first met, he didn’t turn his eyes away, look down his nose at me, or expect me to bow. He shook my hand, like an equal. He made me a knight, because I could fight and had come to his aid when he needed me. I went from being a lonely swell sword to a knight with six brothers at my back.”   
Elyan didn’t have to say anything to that, because they’d said all they’d needed to say. Instead, he took a drink off the flask. The crude wine burned on the way down and left a bitter, acid taste in his mouth. It might have gone off by now, but it was still safer than drinking water from the river. Ampthill didn’t have a well, as they were close enough to the river, but with an army barracking there and a village burned down, the river water couldn’t be safe to drink. There was a well a few villages over, but they couldn’t spare the manpower it would take to haul back more than what they needed for the horses, much less enough to give a minimum ration to all the foot soldiers. 

So they’d dealt out the cheapest wine they had for rations. There wasn’t enough for anyone to get drunk off it anyway. Not that Elyan would get drunk. Not when the night was getting colder and an enemy army might attack them at any minute. He should really get up and patrol the picket lines; take first watch. Percival would take last watch as always; watch the sun rising over the forests in the distance. He didn’t mind first watch. It just meant getting up earlier and the world was a beautiful place early in the morning. 

There was a light fog, covering the grass and clouding up the edges of the river. It had grown so cold during the night, Percival could see his breath in the grey light. The sun was hiding, behind a low, grey covering and he took it as a good sign. Sunlight glinting off metal could hit you in the eyes at exactly the wrong time and take your life. If there was to be a battle today, sun glare wouldn’t kill him or fry him in his armour. There wasn’t any rain either and the clouds didn’t look too heavy. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any freak rain bursts to turn the battlefield into a mud bath. 

Percival took a walk along the perimeter. The line in the direction of Camelot was calm and even though he strained his eyes, he couldn’t catch the glint of steel or the red of a banner in the distance. It seemed like Leon would be arriving in the afternoon. Percival didn’t care if Leon was late, as long as he brought Arthur with him. He turned away and followed the wide curve until he reached the line along the river Thaus, behind the ditch and with a start so violently it set his heart pounding in his chest; he was nearly run through by an enemy party. The fourth day had dawned and Bayard hadn’t wasted a second. 

“Attack!” He parried the thrust and gutted a blue-cloaked figure shrouded in morning mist. “We’re under attack!”

The blow of the hunter’s horn used by the pickets almost blew out his eardrum and for a second he could only hear an odd ringing in his ears. Then there was the clatter of arms and swords. In the distance he could faintly hear Elyan calling, “To arms! Wake up! To arms!” But he was too busy cutting down the last three men to pay close attention. 

“It was just a scouting party!” He shouted and Elyan flinched because Percival hadn’t known he was standing so close. “Four men in a scouting party, but the main forces won’t be far behind.” 

Elyan had never looked so serious, but it suited him, the clean lines of his face and his full lips relaxed and firm. “Rally the men; one force under my command to march on the river as quickly as we can. Line up archers along the river bank; have them fire at will for as long as they can without endangering the cavalry. A small reserve will remain at the camp; watch the ditch and guard our back. Percival, with me.” 

He took only one moment to gather his battle axe and check the strappings on his armour. His horse was ready and waiting. The camp had exploded into a whirlwind of action. Men were struggling into their armour; a few mounting their horses. The foot soldiers were being shouted at by their sergeants to form a line. In less time than you’d think it would take, order emerged from the chaos and battalions and lines emerged from the sloppy rubble of tents. 

Elyan was at the head of the cavalry and the foot soldiers followed in his wake. When they crested the bank; they could see the enemy army arranged on the shores of Cadarn Afon. Elyan charged and Percival followed. The wind whistled past him and he could feel the beat of the horses’ hooves in his heart. They thundered down the bank and Elyan could see the blue-clad archers lined up to strike only to be cut down by Camelot’s archers. Blue-clad foot-soldiers drew their swords; the metal ringing out. The water slowed them down only marginally, the river slow and sluggish with a small current, so far from the mountains. 

When they reached the opposite shore, the little island of Cadarn Afon, they smashed through the line like a hammer crashing through a glass window. They cut through the foot soldiers like a hot knife through butter. They were only two lines. Percival could see the blue liveried cavalry lined up behind them and for a second he was confused by the sight. The next second, his horse collapsed underneath him. He slid off the flank and tried to wrest his ankle out of the stirrup as the beast screamed in distress. They were caught in a ditch with wooden spikes embedded in the soft ground. The foot soldiers had been a distraction and camouflage at the same time. They hadn’t seen it coming. 

He only had seconds before he managed to get his leg from underneath his horse’s flank. The animal screamed again, stumbled and Percival threw himself to the side. He narrowly missed getting impaled, but the screaming was cut off into a bloody gurgle and Percival forced himself to cut his horse’s throat out of mercy. A second later more foot soldiers were on him and he had to parry while keeping an eye the wooden stakes. 

He blocked, thrust and pushed an enemy soldier unto one of the spikes. The man screamed as the wooden stake went through his ribcage, but soon he was only whimpering while blood bubbled out of the corner of his mouth. Percival could hear Elyan’s voice, calling the men to gather to him but there were too many enemies close by. He was surrounded in a sea of blue and he couldn’t seem to find any red. He should fight his way out of the ditch, find higher ground. 

“Do not climb the ditch wall!” It was Elyan’s voice, but Percival was near the edge and with one last heave he was over it. 

“Fall back! Stay inside the cover of the ditch!” Elyan’s voice again and when Percival stood on the ledge, he understood. A few of the Camelot cavalry had already crossed the ditch on foot and some of the foot soldiers had crossed as well. They stood there, ready prey as the enemy cavalry charged into them. He just stood there, like a rabbit caught by a wolf, staring at his upcoming doom when Elyan’s voice cut right through him. 

“Fall back! Into the ditch!” 

He grabbed two red-cloaked figures next to him and pulled them into the ditch with him. The charge jumped over them, sailed over the wooden stakes and as the Mercian riders were busy turning their horses, Camelot charged on mass. 

“Save the horses!” Elyan’s voice again. “Get the men! Pull them off!” They swarmed over the riders like wild men, pulling them off their horses. Every time they pulled a man off; Percival made one of the footmen ride the horse across the river to Camelot’s side. Their own horses had been decimated by the ambush and they needed replacements. 

“Watch out! Charging at the back!” 

Now that the cavalry had failed; Mercia was sending in their foot soldiers and soon the battlefield was too blurred to separate friend from foe. Only the sword coming at you was important and Percival was determined to kill any blue-clad bastard coming at him. He could feel the direction of the battle though. They were being pushed, steadily, into the river. They were losing ground and if Mercia gained the river; all of Camelot could be lost. 

“Push forward! We’re losing ground! Charge them!” Elyan’s voice was firm, in control and Percival found himself pushing forward. Elyan was further away and Percival was surrounded by a barrage of mostly foot soldiers. 

“Alright men!” He cut down a Mercian lieutenant. “Climb the ditch!” It was time to gain ground and the enemy cavalry was gone. “Forward! For Camelot!” 

He pushed forward and he could feel the men pushing with him. Slowly, slowly they began to gain ground. A sense of panic began to envelop the Mercian soldiers. They ran up against his sword or screamed from behind the ditch. Everywhere, the noise of the battlefield seemed to descend into utter chaos and cries. He lost his sword so he pulled a wooden stake from the ditch and swung it along with his axe. Slowly, with the mist of morning far behind them and the high sun of noon on their backs, they gained the ditch and the sight that greeted him was almost beyond the imagination. 

An army of red-clad soldiers had driven into the back of the Mercian army. The remains of the Mercian camps had been trampled and over run. Its reserve force was hurriedly and desperately arranging itself into ranks and line, but they were driven back into the arms of their comrades who were fleeing Percival’s line of battle, wet and exhausted form crossing the river back to their own shore. Some immediately fled back into the water, only to be cut down by Percival’s own forces as they crossed the ground of Cadorn Afon. The opposite shore was a miasma of blue clad figures desperately fighting for their lives, running here and there, while the golden dragon of Camelot fluttered on its standard and her men marched methodically, inevitably; like a stone avalanche in the mountains. Percival had no idea where they’d come from. 

“To me!” And there it was; a voice shouting out over the din, clear and victorious. “To me!” Arthur; unmistakably Arthur. 

Percival turned, and there he was. He sat on a black stallion, riding through the water. Surrounded by fresh men and fresh horses; he sat tall and golden-haired. His sword was raised and the steel glittered in the sun. He looked every inch the king and Percival’s heart lodged in his throat. 

“To me!” 

The whole battlefield seemed to breathe anew; like a fresh breeze driving out the death and despair. A strong wind seemed to billow from his direction and a voice cried out. 

“To the king!” 

The cry was taken up all around him and although Percival knew that the king was an old and withered man, although he knew that Arthur was a prince and general, he found himself raising his arm and shouting. 

“To the king!” 

Arthur punched the air with his sword and shouted. “Charge! Charge! Take the bank!” The cavalry charged and the footmen ran behind them. They seemed to fly over the ditch and so, the Mercian forces were caught between the hammer and the anvil. They smashed together in a screech of steel and the screams of horses. The standard of Camelot flew high in the sun and it seemed like nothing short of a miracle. 

“Gather the wounded!” Percival shouted, almost afraid that his voice would crack like a boy’s. He grabbed a few foot soldiers near him. “Gather the wounded; take them back to camp. Anyone else; to the king! Charge!” And he ran headlong into the din; like a fool and a crazed knight. 

“He’s come!” 

Elyan’s voice again, in the distance. 

“Arthur’s come! To the king! To the king!” 

 

 

To Be Continued….


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

The field hospital tent was set up near the ruins of Ampthill, where Elyan’s forces had erected a make-shift tent from the rubble of the town and what appeared to be old sheets. The large tent Arthur’s forces had brought with him did not take long to set up. Footmen hurried to arrange the cots, blankets and a long, narrow table with supplies under Gloria’s directions, while the captain of the remaining company filled Arthur in on the state of affairs. The great noise of battle could be heard nearby and the wounded were already lying on improvised cots, covered in dirty bandages. Arthur left behind a small company to help set up the tent and then rode off to the river’s edge into battle. He didn’t take Merlin with him.

 

Instead, Merlin stayed behind to help with the wounded. He tried not to think about Arthur as he bandaged young men, used cream to prevent infection or, in one case, tied off a bloody stump where an arm should have been. Once the tent had been set up, along with clean and orderly cots, things seemed to pass almost smoothly. An odd haze descended over him, as the wounded came in and he and Gloria fell into a rhythm.

 

Merlin received the wounded first. Those with less severe injuries, he treated himself and either walked or helped carry them to their own bedroll in the camp. Some even went back to the fighting, as if a bloody bandage could stand in for a shield. The more heavily wounded, he sent to the back where Gloria went from bed to bed, cauterizing wounds with magic, slapping on a quick bandage with a spell to ward of infection, dispensing potions and creams. She performed quick triage to help as many as possible; like sticking a bandage over a cancer until she had to the time to help more thoroughly. The rest of the tent quickly filled up with the dead or dying.

 

Merlin did not think of Arthur alone on the battlefield. Although, Arthur wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by his army. It was just that he was without Merlin and he hadn’t ever been, not since Merlin had gone into his service. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; the thought that Arthur didn’t have Merlin to watch him. He’d tried arguing, but his arguments had only met with a stony look instead of the willing-to-be-convinced indulgence he usually faced. There was a rift where they’d been the closest and now Arthur had ordered Merlin from his side. He wanted to disobey Arthur, but for the first time he was actually afraid to. He told himself that it would be best to serve Arthur from afar now if obedience could keep him by Arthur’s side in the future.

 

The sound of battle in the distance wore on his nerves. He kept his eyes open for familiar faces, but the sea of wounded was a sea of strangers. Gloria didn’t seem bothered by the noise; the screams and screeches of metal in the distance. She didn’t seem to hear the cries for “mother!” or the wet gurgling when someone tried to breathe through a punctured lung. Her nerves were as castle walls; weathered and tempered by time and endurance. He followed her lead and adopted the quiet and confident demeanour. It seemed to settle hysterics, like the calm in the eye of a storm. He held down an older man by his shoulders while Gloria sent a shaft of light through his gut-wound. The man screamed, but Merlin didn’t even flinch and neither did anyone else. It would have made him feel sick inside, if he’d had the time to think about it. But he didn’t and he was hardened by the blood, the screams and the hopeless crying all around him. War made horrors out of all of them.

 

Some of the cots were filled with corpses and Gloria sent him to clear them when possible. The dead were collected and laid out on the grass field beyond the tents. They seemed a small number; no more than two dozen at the least. Merlin knew that most of the living would have joined that number without immediate help. Many had been lost in the previous few days because they had to be sent to Camelot and were beyond help when they got there.

 

Merlin distributed water and rations among the wounded. Those who could eat or drink were encouraged to do so slowly; to recover their strength. The men who were resting Merlin left alone. He briefly spoke to the few who were conscious and they seemed comforted; at ease. Some were watching Gloria move between the rows of cots. She used her magic openly and unafraid, yet none of the men said anything. Most didn’t even seem to notice, the pain of their injuries covering their eyes. But someone would see and after the battle rumours would spread. What would Arthur do then? He’d brought her here in open defiance of his father’s laws and his own judgement upon her crimes. What would he do then?

 

The flow of incoming injured slowed to a trickle and Gloria moved to the back, where she re-examined injuries and limbs. She set a few broken bones; had to amputate one limb and decided that heavier surgery to repair internal damage would have to wait until they got back to Camelot. She didn’t have the supplies for it there. Merlin watched her as she tightly wrapped a knight’s cracked ribs and made him drink a sedative. Her apron was covered in blood and a few tendrils of hair had escaped the tight knot at the back of her head.

 

“Merlin!”

 

He quickly finished helping a young man onto a cot and looked around for the voice calling his name. It was Neville and he looked so changed Merlin almost didn’t recognize him. He had a cut just below his right eye and his face was covered in blood. He’d lost his cloak in the confusion of battle and his plate armour was dented and scratched. He was hovering next to Leon who had a hand pressed to his side, the cloth around it soaked in blood.

 

He hurried over, but Leon tried to turn away, hiding the injury from view. “What happened?”

 

“It’s fine. Neville is just making a fuss.” His voice was hoarse and it cracked; as if he was parched. He tried to pull away again but Neville herded him slowly in the direction of the tent without touching him.

 

Neville shook his head. “The axe got at the gap between the breast plate and the lower plates. The mail is torn. Your ribs might be broken. You might be cut and need stitches. If left untreated you could get an infection.”

 

“Neville’s right,” Merlin said and together he and Neville kept manoeuvring Leon closer to the big medic tent. “You should let Gloria take a look at it.”

 

Leon’s whole body tensed, but he didn’t say a word, so Merlin went to fetch her while Neville helped Leon to a cot and out of his armour. The cloak was torn beyond repair and so Neville let it drop onto the grass without a care. The plate and mail came off slowly and Leon’s brow was covered in sweat when he lowered his arm back to his injured side. The gambeson came next and the tear on the left side was wet with blood. Both the chainmail and the gambeson could be salvaged, the plate armour would need to be dented out, so Neville held on to them.

 

Merlin came back and Gloria walked slowly behind him. Her face was empty and her manner stiff, but she slowly raised Leon’s arm so she could look at the wound and her touch was gentle. Leon cleared his throat. “You should go back to the front, if you can, Neville.”

 

“The fighting is almost over,” Neville argued. “You need me.”

 

Leon shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Go help Arthur, if you can.”

 

“Alright, I’ll leave these in your tent,” Neville said and he raised his arms filled with the mail and gambeson. He left and Merlin left with him. Leon watched them go and realized it was odd, to feel alone with someone in a crowd.

 

“The cut is shallow,” Gloria said and she pressed with one hand carefully against his chest, feeling for broken bones. He hissed at the contact, but he didn’t feel the sharp spike of broken bones. Her thumb pressed deeper for a second and he grunted. “You’ve damaged your floating ribs. They’re not broken, but definitely cracked.” She held her hand an inch away from his side and hissed something guttural underneath her breath. Her eyes lit up gold and he could see an odd mist shimmer into the air between her hand and his side. He couldn’t make sense of the mass of muscles and bones, but the tingle of magic in his skin made the hairs on the back of his neck stand out.

 

“You should take it easy for a while. You can ride a horse, but not in gallop, a slight trod is the fastest you can go.” She lowered her hand into a pocket of her gown and pulled out a small jar of cream. Leon could see that it was almost completely depleted. She carefully rubbed some into his side and then began to wrap his torso tightly. He ignored how her arms went completely around him and her body pressed against him briefly, again and again. “Keep it covered and warm. Have your page or squire apply the ointment regularly in the mornings and the evenings.”

 

Her hands were sure and strong; exactly the right amount of pressure. He’d felt the scratch of callouses on her thumb and her palm when she’d massaged the ointment in his side. There was blood underneath her fingernails. Her face was tense, but she met his eyes frankly.

 

“I think I could fix it.”

 

“My side?”

 

She shook her head. “No, I meant your memories. You were there, so the memories of what happened are in there.” She lightly touched his temple. Her touch seemed to linger, but Leon was tired and he couldn’t be sure. “You just weren’t in charge, so you can’t access them. I could bring them back.”

 

“Using magic.”

 

“Yes.”

 

That was all she said as she cared for him and he let the silence rest between them as she tucked in the bandage securely. She took a second to smooth her hand down over the fabric and then she was gone; stepping easily between the rows of cots. He watched her for a second longer and then, with a groan, he stood from the cot. He left the medic tent behind him and walked over to his own tent. He wished, briefly, that he hadn’t sent Neville back to the front so he’d have someone to help him into his armour. He wanted to go back to the river and see for himself what was happening. He was confident Arthur’s victory was secure, but he would have liked to see it with his own eyes. Instead, he heard the cheers in the distance followed by a squire arriving in the camp.

 

“The field is ours!” The young man looked ecstatic. He hardly seemed old enough to shave or ride a horse, never mind serve in battle. But his tabard was spotted with blood and the Pendragon banner in his hand was torn and trampled on. Yet, it flew proudly in the breeze. “The field is ours!”

 

A great cry arose from the tent and Leon could see some of the wounded struggle into a sitting position to bellow better. Merlin popped into existence at his left side and Gloria stood at the edge of the medic tent. Her hand shielded her eyes from the sun and with a start Leon realized that it must be near sunset already.

 

“The field is ours! Camelot has the day!”

 

Merlin shouted wordlessly and Leon laughed because this was all he had hoped for. Arthur had returned safely and they’d won the war against Mercia and he couldn’t care about anything else. The sun shone brightly in the sky and not even the shadow of Morgana’s hatred could touch them now. They had won, against all machinations and plots, they had won and would live to fight another day. It seemed like something out of a story; the kingdom in danger and her prince riding in at the last possible moment to save her. They’d sing songs about this day; about Arthur’s bravery and the light glinting of his sword.

 

Slowly, the men came trickling back from the battlefield. They were tired, but cheerful and the sound of their laughter rang out in the air. They stoked fires and cooked their meals and helped the injured eat. Gloria gave instructions for broth and small bites of food and water for the heavily wounded only, but Leon knew that some of the canteens passed around would be ale or wine. He turned a blind eye as the camp steadily filled up and when Neville returned to him.

 

“Arthur has taken possession of Bayard’s pavilion,” Neville said and his grin was almost unseemly.

 

“Bayard’s pavilion? I didn’t realize Arthur had taken the camp.”

 

Neville dug through the sacks in their tent and finally found a spare shirt of mail. “Gwaine’s forces just went straight through it. The pavilion was spared, but nearly all the knight’s tents are destroyed. Arthur’s locked in about half of Mercia’s forces at the original camp. The other half is either dead or deserted. He wants you to join him there.”

 

So Leon changed as well as he could into a fresh shirt and chainmail. He washed some of the blood out of his beard while Neville somehow procured a clean and fresh looking cloak. He needed Neville’s help to climb unto his horse but refused it when he needed to descend his horse in the enemy’s camp. There were blue-cloaked figures gathered in a small, cordoned off section guarded closely by Camelot’s knights. The foot soldiers had been left to go salvage the remains of their tents; without their sergeants and their captains to lead them or force them into battle; they only needed a small guard to be kept in line. They looked as tired as the men of Camelot did, but far more down trodden.

 

“Leon!”

 

Elyan’s hug squeezed his ribs, but Leon didn’t care. They parted, grinning like lunatics and then Leon hugged Percival close to him as well.

 

“I can’t believe it!” He pulled back and smacked Percival’s bare upper arm. “Not a scratch on you!”

 

“The gods must have been looking out for me, this day.”

 

“For all of us,” Elyan interjected.

 

It did seem like nothing short of a miracle when Leon stepped inside the tent. Bayard and a few of his knights were sitting on one side of a large table, a few red-cloaked guards standing behind them. Arthur stood near the entrance. He’d removed his cloak and the plate armour, but he looked regal enough in nothing but his mail. He looked up when they entered and he smiled with decorum, as befitting a gracious victor, but there was a vicious grin hiding in his eyes.

 

“Sir Elyan,” Arthur took his hand and shook it. “I wanted to thank you, personally, for holding the front lines. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

Elyan grinned and a wicked satisfaction uncurled in Leon’s belly at the look of righteous fury on Bayard’s face. Percival’s broad frame shook almost imperceptibly and Arthur quickly punched him in the shoulder.

 

“Sir Percival, thank you for your services. Your prowess on the battle field is as good as ten armed men.”

 

“My lord flatters me,” Percival said coyly and Elyan hid his snort in a cough.

 

Leon remained calm and steady, even when Arthur caught his eye and shook his hand almost furiously. “Of course, I owe most of this victory to you, Sir Leon. Without your keen strategic insight, I would have lost Camelot to Mercia at the start of all this mess.”

 

It was all very courteous; a general thanking his captains, but he was rubbing it in Mercia’s faces. Arthur was the victor though and they would have to take it. He invited them further in, but didn’t ask them to sit. Instead, Arthur stood in front of the Mercian party, flanked by his knights.

 

“I wanted Sir Leon here because he’d been present at the start of this conflict and can report on everyone’s honourable conduct,” Arthur said and made sure not to look away from Bayard’s face when he said it. Bayard’s behaviour had been stiff and evasive, more so than a military loss warranted and Arthur was sure it meant nothing good. “Of course, we’re all tired, so we’ll keep this brief. Camelot has won the day. We have held the lines since the start of this conflict, despite an ambush during parlay at Cadarn Afon, to which Sir Leon can testify, and we have defeated your armies. Tomorrow morning we will begin drafting the terms of your surrender.” His tone broke no argument and even though some of the knights glanced in Bayard’s direction, Mercia’s king didn’t flinch.

 

“I’m leaving a contingent of knights here, as insurance and a small company of foot soldiers to keep an eye out. Tomorrow, at midday, we will begin negotiations here. Do those terms satisfy?”

 

Bayard said nothing, only gave a stiff nod and then Arthur swept out of the tent, his knights behind him.

 

“Percival, if you’re not too tired I’d like you to stay here,” Arthur said, turning to Percival. “You don’t have to stay awake. Command a bedroll and get some rest, but keep an eye out if you can.”

 

“Not too tired, no,” he said although there were lines of strain on his face. “But why me?”

 

“You’re an intimidating figure. I trust your presence will stop them from trying anything and this will be your turn to try your hand at command. I trust you, Percival.” Arthur’s smile was broad and confident.

 

Percival smiled back. “Thank you, sire. I will serve you to the best of my abilities.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Good man. The rest of us should go back to camp, see to the wounded. We need to start listing the dead, so we know whose families to inform. I’d like to start sending back men to Camelot as quickly as possible. They can escort the refugees back to their homes. The city can’t sustain such a large number of people indefinitely.”

 

They mounted their horses and made their way over the river, past Cadarn Afon.

 

“What will you ask for, in the terms?” Elyan asked.

 

“Repayment for damages; that means all the villages and crops; a compensation fee for the dead of course. We’ll send money to families who’ve lost someone and to soldiers who’ve been permanently maimed.”

 

Elyan’s eyebrows rose. “Do you always do that?”

 

Leon shook his head. “No, the compensation fee is customary; but not for the families. It’s paid to the lord, so he can replace soldiers he’s lost.”

 

“Well, we’re going to pay the families,” Arthur said. “It won’t make up for the horrors they’ve suffered or the people they’ve lost, but … if they’ve lost someone, they can hire a hand to help with the crop or buy new cattle. If someone’s been maimed he can hire an assistant to help him work the forge for the first few months at least. It’s not much, I know.”

 

“It’s something,” Elyan said. “Something most lords don’t even bother with.”

 

 

 

 

To be continued….

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Arthur’s pavilion was a thing of beauty. The thick, red fabric hung neatly on its poles, the floor was covered in gold and dusky brown embroidered rugs. A few tables arranged in a circle stood near the entrance with a wooden throne at the end. Behind the throne, a curtain was hung to offer some privacy for the wooden bed with a thick mattress. The coals in the braziers were glowing. The air inside smelled like flowers and summer. A plate with fresh bread, cheese and fruit was put on the table along with a jug of wine. The sheets on the bed were turned down. In the middle of it all stood Merlin, looking anxious but defiant at the same time.

 

“I’m here to do my job. You haven’t sacked me yet.”

 

He was standing tall and straight, his large ears sticking out as usual and grinning his equally freakishly large teeth at the world. His.... everything set Arthur’s teeth on edge. So he frowned and took of his cape, tossed it unto a chair.

 

“I’m not going to sack you. Even though I should, you’re the lousiest servant in the world.”

 

He reached out to take off his plate armour on his own when all of a sudden it was gone. He was left in his sweat-soaked shirt sleeves and a brass tub filled with steaming water stood in front of him.

 

“ _Mer_ lin!”

 

Merlin shrugged and wore his innocent ‘who? me?’ expression, but there was disobedience in the glint of his eyes and the clench of his teeth.

 

“I thought you could use a bath. You’re covered in blood.”

 

He was; there was blood drying in his hair, on his clothes and dirt and blood pressed into the lines of his hands, underneath his fingernails. He was sore and his shoulder felt like it was on fire and all Arthur wanted to do was sit and rest. But that wasn’t the point.

 

“You can’t just .... conjure a tub from nowhere!” he hissed.

 

Merlin grinned again. “Why not? I’ve done it before.”

 

That stopped him in his tracks. He’d listened to Merlin recount all the stories; all the enemies he’d defeated, the schemes he’d thwarted, the people he’d killed or chased off. He’d described his magical escapades with almost grotesque detail. But he hadn’t mentioned using magic so casually, for such fickle things. He’d made a crack about it, in Camelot, but he hadn’t seriously considered that Merlin might have been using magic to do his chores; polish armour, clean clothes, scrub floors and clean out stables. He stared at the tub.

 

“Do you do it often?” His voice is softer than he’d meant it to be.

 

Merlin just looked at him. “More often than I should. It just ... comes naturally to me.”

 

Arthur didn’t want to think about that, so he simply started removing his clothes. He waved Merlin off when Merlin tried to help and then stepped into the tub on his own. He slowly lowered himself into the water and hissed when the heat of it made contact with his back. But after the sting passed, the water felt heavenly against his skin and he sighed deeply. He was tired; so very tired.

 

“I’ll fetch Gloria to look at your shoulder and back,” Merlin said.

 

“Don’t take her away from anything pressing. My shoulder can wait if she’s busy saving a life.”

 

He didn’t watch Merlin leave and instead focused on scrubbing the dirt and blood from his body. His injured shoulder felt heavy and cumbersome, but he’d been lucky enough not to get hurt in the fighting. He climbed out of the tub and clumsily dried himself. He managed to get into a pair of trousers, but decided to wait with putting on his shirt until he had help. The heat of the water had done his shoulder some good, but he’d needed the use of both arms to fight his battle. It felt stiff and heavy. He should have kept a better eye on his sling; it would’ve come in handy now but he couldn’t remember where he’d last left it.

 

There was a rustle near the tent entrance, low conversation and then one of the guards called out; “Gloria Redwood, requesting entrance, sire.”

 

“Let her in.”

 

She stepped inside and her eyes flitted around the tent. She lingered on the tub, as if she could sense how it had got there, but then she looked at him.

 

“How is it feeling?”

 

She put her bag on the table with a sigh. Her apron was covered in blood and so were the rolled up sleeves of her dress. Her hands were clean though and so was her face, but there were dark circles underneath her eyes.

 

“It feels fine. How are you?”

 

She took a roll of linen and a jar of cream from her bag. She looked up at him and frowned. “I’m fine.” She motioned for him to move closer and so he did. “Turn around.” He obeyed and he heard her sigh deeply. It sounded more exasperated than actually tired.

 

“You’ve opened a few of the cuts, probably with the weight of your chainmail,” she said. He could hear her rustling around in her bag. She started dabbing at a few of the cuts that had opened. “The big one’s bleeding again.” The press of the cloth hurt, but Arthur didn’t say anything. The cloth vanished and a cool cream was applied at the edges of the wound. After that, he could feel the crystal of her amulet and the sound of her whisper was a warning because a searing heat cut through him. His knees nearly buckled, but he braced himself just in time.

 

“I’ve cauterized the cuts. It’ll leave a scar, but it’ll stop bleeding.”

 

He’d take a few scars any day, Arthur thought. They were on his back anyway, no one who cared about such things would see them. Gloria made him turn around again. She put her hands on his arm and moved it for him; stretched it out by his side. She massaged the skin on his shoulder, feeling for damage.

 

“I’m fine,” Arthur said and meant it, because his arm hadn’t bothered him that much during the fight.

 

With a muttered hiss, a network of veins and solid bone glowed into existence and she was still frowning. Another hiss and a block of muscle appeared. The image fell away and she forced his arm upwards in attempt to rotate it, but his knees buckled and she had to catch him before he hit the ground. She helped him upright and Arthur was panting slightly. The pain had spiked through him so quickly he hadn’t been able to draw breath. He could still feel the echo of it, radiating out from his shoulder. Gloria was frowning.

 

“You used it during the fight.”

 

“I had to.”

 

She sighed again and her hand shook slightly when she reached for the jar. She scooped up some ointment and then came close to rub it into his skin. Her hand didn’t shake when she did that; it was sure and firm.

 

“I warned you to use your left arm in battle, or you might permanently damage the muscle.” Arthur knew that the spike of panic must have showed on his face, because she added; “I can’t know for sure until you’ve started recovering, but the chance is fairly high.” He nodded and let her help him into a shirt and then made him sit on the bed.

 

“You have to get some rest and you _need_ to start wearing your sling.”

 

“I _can’t_. Tomorrow we start negotiating the details of the peace treaty, I can’t afford to show any weakness.”

 

“You have to or you might damage your shoulder beyond repair.”

 

“You’ve said it’s already damaged permanently. Not wearing the sling won’t make much of a difference.”

 

She frowned at him, stern and with clenched teeth. “The extent of the damage can still be minimalized. It’s the difference between swinging a sword and barely lifting a spoon.”

 

“I’ll make sure he wears the sling.”

 

It was Merlin, of course it was. He was standing near the entrance of the tent and with a casual wave of his hand, the brass tub disappeared. His eyes flared gold when he did it and he just stood there, as if he did things like that all the time. Gloria turned back to continue her massage of his shoulder, but she didn’t say anything about the sling or the tub. Arthur gritted his teeth.

 

“How do you plan to do that?”

 

“I’ll just nag at you until cave,” Merlin said and he poured a glass of wine from the jug on the table. “It’s always worked before.”

 

Gloria didn’t smile, but it was hard to hold her gaze anyway. Eventually, she wiped her hands on her apron and hung a fresh sling on the back of a chair. She put everything else back in her satchel and spoke directly to Merlin. “He doesn’t have to wear it in bed, but as much as possible out of it, especially when he’s standing. Don’t let him wear his armour, it’s too heavy and I’d prefer it if he didn’t ride a horse for a while.”

 

“How long?”

 

“I’m the prince, you can’t just talk about me as if I’m not here!”

 

They looked at him briefly and then went back to ignoring him.

 

“For a few days at least, preferably a week, maybe even longer. Once the swelling along the muscles dies down, I’ll be able to see the damage more accurately. After that, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

Merlin nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Apart from his shoulder, he’s fine. He just needs to rest; food and sleep and in that order. Let him sleep as long as he needs to. Come find me when he wakes up; I’ll take a look at his shoulder then.” She hoisted her bag unto her shoulder. She looked back at Arthur, smiled and then left the tent without another word.

 

Merlin watched her go and then turned back to Arthur. “Cook is making some sort of stew; I think its rabbit. I could go and fetch you some if you like?”

 

Something warm in his belly sounded nice, but at the same time he was too tired and too hungry to wait. He shook his head and motioned for Merlin to come closer. “I’ll just have what’s on the table. Help me put on a shirt.”

 

Merlin got him into his night shirt. Arthur ate the fruit and some of the bread, but he didn’t seem to taste most of it. Merlin moved about the tent comfortably. He’d gathered up the chainmail and had lain it out on a chair. He was inspecting it for rust and damage. The rest of Arthur’s plate armour had been spread out on the carpet to await the same treatment. Merlin looked the same as he always did and Arthur didn’t know how he could be so unchanged after everything. Arthur certainly did not remain unchanged.

 

After a thorough inspection and scrubbing of the armour, Merlin began to douse all the candles. The tent darkened, until it was only lit by the soft glow of the braziers. Arthur could feel his eyes beginning to droop, but he didn’t get up. He didn’t want to go to sleep yet. He wanted to watch Merlin and look at him until he could think of what to do about him. There were many people in Camelot who knew about Merlin’s magic now; himself, Gaius, Lancelot, Leon and Gwaine. It was possible that others would be told now that the secret had spread; Gwen, Elyan, Percival. A secret was only safe if no one could talk about it. There were too many people now who could talk about it.

 

Of course, that was only a concern if he allowed Merlin to remain in Camelot against the laws of his kingdom, of his king, of his father. Like Lancelot, he would be committing treason every second of every day as long as Merlin remained in Camelot. Even letting him go; to live out his life in Ealdor wouldn’t be in complete accordance with Camelot’s laws. But putting Merlin to death after everything he’d done for Arthur and for Camelot did not bear thinking off. He sighed.

 

“Arthur?” He looked up in Merlin’s face and realized he hadn’t even noticed Merlin coming closer. “Are you alright?”

 

Arthur nodded and rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired.” He slowly stood, his shoulder aching and his feet clumsy with exhaustion. Merlin took his arm and then half of his weight to help him to the bed. He fell among the sheets and he could feel Merlin lifting his feet onto the matrass and cover him with the sheets and blankets. Arthur closed his eyes and a broad hand with long fingers softly stroked his hair. He wanted to open his eyes again, to study the sweeps and lines of Merlin’s face, but his eyelids were too heavy and he slipped into the soft darkness of sleep.

 

He slept deeply and only awakened once to relieve himself. He stumbled out of the back of tent, went freely into the grass, and then stumbled back in. He slept until he was rested and the sunlight had managed to penetrate the tent fabric. He stared up at it for a while, cataloguing the pain in his shoulder, the ache of his feet and the stiffness in the muscles at the back of his thighs. He felt old and alone and reminded himself that he had won a victory yesterday.

 

“Merlin!”

 

His servant appeared almost immediately in defiance of Arthur’s every expectation. He tried to right himself on his own, but his shoulder wouldn’t accept any weight on it. He needed Merlin’s help to sit up straight.

 

“Help me get dressed, we’ll have breakfast after. What time is it?”

 

“It’s not yet noon. If you leave within two hours, you’ll still make your appointment with Mercia.”

 

“Good,” Arthur said and tried not to wince as Merlin manoeuvred his damaged shoulder into a sleeve. “Help me to the table and then go find Gloria. She’ll need to treat my shoulder before I go. After that, tell Leon to report to me.”

 

Merlin did as he was told for once and Arthur at his breakfast, which had been waiting on the table for him. There were eggs, bread, cheese and meat as well as a hot kettle of tea. Arthur purposely did not consider how the eggs and the tea could still be pleasantly warm if they had been there for some time. It was difficult enough to eat with one arm in a sling without adding concerns like that.

 

“Gloria Redwood, sire, asking permission to enter,” the guard in front of the tent called out.

 

“Permission granted.”

 

Both her apron and dress were clean this time. Her hair had been combed and put into a long, simple brain. Her sleeves were rolled up; the cuffs a clean, white line across the tanned skin of her forearms with the amulet hanging innocently off her wrist. Her satchel was by her side and she put it on the table. “Mind if I have a cup of that?” And she pointed at the kettle.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

She acquired a clean cup from a cabinet at the side and poured herself a cup. She sat down across from him. “How did you sleep?”

 

“Good and longer than I usually do.”

 

“And your shoulder?”

 

Arthur forced himself to be honest. “Stiff; it can’t take any weight at all and even with the sling it hurts.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll use the cream again then; it reduces the swelling and encourages the body’s natural healing process to speed up. I can give you something against the pain, but just because it’s stopped hurting doesn’t mean you can take off the sling.”

 

He nodded. “Alright.”

 

After his breakfast, he stood and she helped him take off the sling and then his shirt so she could apply the cream. She was in the process of mixing a potion for the pain while he let the cream dry when Merlin entered, with Leon. His servant quickly went to straighten out the bed while his captain stood at attention.

 

“Sir Leon,” he said and his eyes flickered from Leon to Gloria and back again. They were not looking at each other. “Has Percival checked in at any time?”

 

“He’s sent words that the Mercian nobles tried to complain about their conditions, but he’s dismissed them back to their tent. There’s been no uprising or attempt to break the confinement.”

 

“Good. Gather Gwaine, Elyan and stwo groups of foot soldiers; one will be our protective detail and one will relieve the soldiers guarding the Mercian camp. I want everyone to move out within the hour. You’ll remain behind to keep an eye on the camp. The foot soldiers need to be mobilized to escort the wounded back to Camelot.”

 

“Yes sire, anything else?”

 

He’s forgotten something. He frowned. “Yes, did we bring a scribe with us?”

 

“Two, sire.”

 

“Very good. Get one of them on a horse to take with us. He’ll have to take notes for the meeting and draft the treaty.”

 

Leon bowed and left the tent, again without glancing towards Gloria, even when turning to leave pointed him in her direction.

 

When he left, Gloria handed him the potion to drink and he looked at her from over the rim of the cup. “Have you two talked at all?”

 

She simply stared at him until he finished drinking and then left the tent.

 

 

To Be Continued ….


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Merlin hadn’t thought that using magic in front of Arthur would be so easy. He’d thought it would be difficult to break through years of old habits; hiding, skulking around and using magic when Arthur’s back was turned. But it was easy. He looked Arthur straight in the eyes and summoned a bath tub with steaming hot water. Arthur sat at one of the tables and watched as Merlin held up his armour with magic and rotated it slowly so Merlin could check it for rust and weak links. It was easy and, truth be told, Arthur’s anger and indignation, quietly simmering in the background, made it even easier.

 

He relished it, in an odd kind of way. He felt like a child showing off a new trick again and again. After all those years, Merlin wanted Arthur to know without a doubt what Merlin was. He wanted Arthur to witness all the things he could do. He wanted Arthur to finally see him and he didn’t care that it made Arthur angry, or sad or betrayed. The truth was out there now and Arthur could either accept it or he couldn’t. Either way, things were about to change for good and Merlin refused to lie or hide who he was any longer. There was no longer any point.

 

He looked up from the shirt of mail and looked at Arthur, who was regarding Merlin with an odd expression on his face; a mixture between disgust and fascination. He seemed unable to look away.

 

“It’s easy,” Merlin said, “with a bit of practice.”

 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He turned back to the remains of his breakfast. Merlin couldn’t read the set of his shoulders, as he always could. For a second, Merlin worried that he was widening the gap between them by using magic so openly. But, what could he do? Hide himself away? Pretend that Arthur didn’t know about the magic? Perhaps it would be safer for him, if Arthur was allowed to put it in the back of his mind and not think of it. But Merlin wouldn’t have that. Arthur had to know.

 

Eventually, Arthur rose from the table and he motioned for Merlin to put his armour on him.

 

“Gloria said you shouldn’t wear the armour.”

 

“I need to look like I’m ready for battle, for anything.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Merlin argued. “It’s mostly ceremonial, you know that _and_ if you don’t wear it, you look like you’re not afraid of anything.”

 

“Hard to look like I’m not afraid of anything with my arm in that sling.”

 

Merlin had to consciously stop clenching his teeth. “You’re not wearing your armour and you are wearing your sling. You’re lucky I’m not having the knights put you in a cart to get you to the meeting since you can’t ride a horse.”

 

“A cart!”

 

“Yes, a cart! Now let me put your clothes on you and we can be on our way.”

 

“We?” Arthur asked.

 

“Yes, we, I’m coming with you.”

 

Arthur’s face went stony and cold. “I didn’t say you could.”

 

“I just assumed.”

 

“You assume a lot for a servant.”

 

The silence filled the tent and Merlin didn’t know what to say to that. Arthur had sounded normal, like he always had, but now he sounded angry again. Merlin turned to the chest placed next to the cabinet and pulled out a tough, leather jerkin.

 

“How about this, for over your shirt?” He offered. “It’s not chainmail, but it’s not nothing either. The weight isn’t going to bother your shoulder.”

 

Arthur was still staring at him, but his silence wasn’t quite so angry anymore and he jerked his head in agreement. Merlin helped him put it on, over a new clean shirt, and then the sling followed with the cloak. He did belt Arthur’s sword by his side and stuck a dagger in Arthur’s boot, just in case. He fetched a comb and smoothed down Arthur’s hair. He looked like a king.

 

“You’ll stay here and sort out the pavilion,” he said and Merlin clenched his fists. “Then help Gloria sort out the wounded. I’ve given orders for them to be prepared for travel, if they can. They’ll be sent to Camelot with a guard detail.”

 

“You’re serious? You’re just leaving me here. You’re going into that tent without your armour and without me. I can protect you.”

 

Arthur glared. “I don’t need your protection.”

 

“If I hadn’t been protecting to you for all this time, you’d have been dead twenty times over!” Merlin hissed and Arthur was acutely aware of the guards standing right outside, separated from this scene by nothing more than a scrap of fabric.

 

He grabbed Merlin by his neckerchief and pulled him close, causing Merlin to stumble and nearly fall. “You are staying _here_ ,” he spat. “You should be glad I’m not sending you back to Camelot all together, or worse, back to Ealdor.”

 

He released Merlin, resisted shoving him off, and then walked out of the tent. He commandeered one of the stable hands to help him onto his horse and he’d damn well get off himself at the Mercian camp. He tried to reign in his temper, because he couldn’t be in this foul a mood when dealing with Bayard and his gaggle of sycophants. He needed to be calm and collected and fair when discussing the terms. Imposing harsh repayments and rules would only embitter Mercia further and encourage a lifelong resistance to peace between the two kingdoms.

 

He met up with Elyan, Gwaine and the foot soldiers and together they set off on a brisk pace towards the Mercian bank. They went as fast as the foot soldiers could go without wearing them out entirely and they managed to reach their destination in a timely manner. Arthur allowed himself a moment of pride before carefully descending from his horse, and then hiding his grimace when he inadvertently jarred his shoulder again. The sooner this was all dealt with, the better. He wanted to go back to Camelot, back home and sleep in his own bed and eat at his own table.

 

Percival stood waiting for him. He looked tired, but satisfied. The Camelot foot soldiers stationed there for the night were slowly gathering their gear and arranging their marching column. Arthur noted that the Mercian soldiers were sitting around camp fires, cooking or sitting on their bedrolls, but there was barely any chatter. There was an odd hush over the camp; something more than just the shame and bitterness of defeat.

 

“Percival,” Arthur exclaimed with a smile and in a softer voice added: “no problems?”

 

Percival shook his head. “No sir, we didn’t have any trouble. They’ve been like this all night,” he almost whispered. “They’re just sitting there, sleeping or eating or doing nothing. Nobody seems in any shape to be staging another attack.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Good,” he replied, but he wasn’t sure that it was. He shook the thought off. He must still be tired from yesterday and his shoulder was getting to him. Now was not the time to indulge in foolish flights of whimsy. Something strange in the air, indeed. “How’s Bayard?”

 

Percival shrugged. “He complained about accommodations, but that’s it. He’s in the tent right now, along with some of his lords. I had them served the same breakfast we handed out to the foot soldiers from the Mercian supplies.”

 

Arthur grinned. “Good man. I’ve brought a fresh company, so the men can be switched out. Take them back to the camp and get some rest.” He turns to look at Gwaine and Elyan. “Sir Gwaine is going to arrange the foot soldiers and inspect the camp. Try to get them in some form of order. Just because they’ve lost doesn’t mean they have to lose their dignity. Sir Elyan, you’ll come in with me.”

 

He selected two more footmen from the company to stand inside the tent at the entrance, made sure the scribe was following and then went inside the large, luxurious pavilion. The Mercian lords were seated and looked cranky. They didn’t rise when Arthur stepped up the table and Arthur decided to let them have their pettiness. It was all they had left now.

 

“Very well, gentlemen.” He sat down and motioned for the others with him to do the same. “Let’s begin.”

 

He began with reconstructing what had happened in the days before he showed up to take command of his army. He listened to testimonies by the lords and Bayard, who at the very least had the honour to tell the truth about the ambush at Cadarn Afon. Elyan testified to the conduct regarding the truce and the raiding party sent in on the morning after the fourth day. They had lunch in a very tense atmosphere, but all in all things were progressing very smoothly, surprisingly so. Neither Bayard nor any of his ilk were trying to imply dishonourable conduct on Camelot’s behalf and were forthcoming on their own. Of course, that attitude didn’t last past lunch.

 

“The ambush was strategically sound,” Bayard insisted.   


“True,” Arthur agreed, “but it was dishonourable.”

 

Bayard glared at him, but didn’t object and Arthur watched as the scribes, both the one from Camelot and the one from Mercia, took down notes.

 

“Do you admit that there was no ground for the attack on Camelot? That you risked open war without any provocation?”

 

Bayard settled back in his seat. “The river Thaus is the natural border between Camelot and Mercia.”

 

Arthur resisted the urge to glare and kept his face completely devoid of all irritation. “That debate was settled during previous negotiations after the last war between Mercia and Camelot. It was decided that Thaus and its northern bank rightfully belonged to Camelot.”

 

“I compromised with your father in the interest of maintaining peace between our two kingdoms, during the negotiations, that is true. But I always maintained our ancient claim and insisted a clause was installed to ensure further negotiations on the matter.”

 

“That is an outright lie.”

 

“I do not believe you were present during the last negotiations. In fact, I believe you were not even born,” Bayard drawled and Arthur wanted to throttle him.   


“There is no such clause in the copy of the treaty in Camelot’s records,” Arthur countered instead. “I have looked over the documents myself.”

 

Bayard shrugged. “I assure you the clause is present in my own copy. I do not see how negligence on the part of Camelot’s scribes should affect my own affairs.”

 

Arthur smiled. “But the negligence of your own scribes certainly would, as they failed to notice the clause was missing when they proofed our version of the document. _If_ such a clause existed in the first place, which I maintain was not the case.”

 

“Perhaps if Uther was here, he could vouch for its existence,” Bayard went on, but Arthur interrupted him.

 

“The king of Camelot is maintaining the defences of our capital and his old war injury will not allow him to travel at this time. But perhaps your majesty would be so gracious as to present us with his copy of the treaty document, which your majesty insists contains the clause.”

 

“I am afraid the treaty document remains at our archives in Mercia’s capital. It would take several weeks for me to send someone to fetch it and then return it here. We recently had a fire in the library, you see,” Bayard said with an air of regret, “and things are somewhat out of order.”

 

Arthur took in a deep breath through his nose. “Very well, you may send us the document when it is convenient for you to do so. In the meantime, the question of the clause shall have to be put aside.”

 

“On the contrary, the matter must be settled. It proves the legitimacy of our actions,” Bayard lectured and Arthur had just about enough.

 

“Legitimacy!” The shout made some of the men jump. “There is nothing legitimate about the horrors perpetrated upon my people in the village of Ampthill and all the villages on the north bank of the river Thaus. Even if there was such a clause leaving open negotiation about establishing Thaus as the natural border; it does not justify a sneak attack with no formal declaration of war or warning. The rape, pillaging and murder of my people cannot be sanctioned through any document.”

 

He was aware that some of the Mercian nobles were leaning back in their chair as far as they could, as if they were trying to escape. Bayard, however, sat still as a rock and only gazed back at him. He was infuriatingly calm and Arthur would be angry at himself for losing his temper if it hadn’t been immensely satisfying.

 

He took a deep breath. “If there is a clause, which I contest, it has no bearing on the _legitimacy_ of your actions here. It does not justify wanton violence.” He cleared his throat and looked at the scribes. “Make a note; Camelot will send a trusted advisor to Mercia to search for the document in Mercia’s archives as soon as the situation will allow.”

 

If Bayard hadn’t pre-emptively set fire to his archives in case of loss, he’d send someone to do so quickly in order to cover up the evidence and destroy the treaty. Arthur had to get someone there first to prove that not only was Bayard a coward who attacked without warning, but he had no honour. He was lying outright during peace negotiations to the prince of Camelot, the representative of the nation. He was lying to Camelot herself and Arthur was going to prove it.

 

“That matter being settled,” Arthur concluded and he glared at Bayard, daring him to interrupt. “The question of your … chosen occasion is very interesting. You attacked immediately after Camelot’s tournament. None of your knights attended the event and since your most prominent knights are here to support you, you had the time to send for them, to arrange your troops. You planned this whole attack in advance.”

 

“It is not unusual to do so,” Bayard pointed out. “Or does Camelot only attack on a whim?”

 

Arthur smiled. “Of course not, but as both myself and my father at that time seemed indisposed, and you were so very well prepared, I simply wonder at it all.”

 

Bayard smiled back. “Yes, we deemed the timing was very serendipitous.”

 

“Serendipitous?” Arthur asked.

 

“Yes; it means lucky or fortuitous.”

 

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Yes, I am aware, thank you. It simply seems to be too coincidental to be a fluke.”

 

“I would not say it was a fluke,” Bayard offered. “Perhaps the gods were smiling down on us.”

 

“Not so much maybe, because you did lose,” Elyan said and then cleared his throat when they all turned to stare him, “your grace.”

 

Bayard couldn’t hide his sour look and Arthur didn’t bother hide his grin, no matter how uncourtly Elyan’s comment had been. He was beginning to tire though and every time he moved his arm, his shoulder grumbled at him. It was wearying and Arthur debated over the merits of starting on reparations now or leaving them until tomorrow. It would take a day longer for him to get to Camelot, but if he left the Mercian camp now he could send someone to Mercia’s capital post haste. It was near dinner time anyway.

 

The ride back to Camelot’s camp was agony and he knew that Percival and Elyan were exchanging worrying looks behind his back. He was grateful they’d left Gwaine behind to maintain order at the Mercian camp because Arthur did not want to deal with him and his prattle and disapproving looks. They made it back in good time and the second Arthur dismounted, Leon was there.

 

“Report,” Arthur ordered.

 

“Most of the heavily wounded, fit to travel, have been sent home sire, along with an escort party and a company of lightly wounded soldiers. They have the first death list with them, we are still working on the second. Some of the bodies are hard to identify. There are still quite a few wounded in the medical tent, they were too unstable to move yet but Redwood is positive that we can send them home either tomorrow or the day after that, provided we have the carts to move them.”

 

Arthur didn’t question Leon’s use of Gloria’s last name and simply nodded. “Good, I need you to find a knight you can trust and send him to Mercia as fast as you can. He needs to search the archives and find Bayard’s copy of the peace treaty. Bayard’s claiming that the treaty originally held a clause that allowed for further discussion of Thaus as the natural border between Camelot and Mercia. He’s also claiming that there was a fire a while ago that destroyed some of his records. Send someone to Mercia to find that treaty, preferably before Bayard’s instructions to destroy the document reach Mercia.”

 

“Do you think he’s managed to send out a messenger?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “Percival’s confident that nobody managed to slip away from the encampment. But Bayard might have left standing orders in case of defeat and if word of Camelot’s victory should reach Mercia…”

 

“Right away sire,” Leon said and immediately vanished into the thick of tents. That’s why Arthur kept Leon close when he could; the man was scarily efficient. He dismissed Percival and Elyan and ordered the men to get some rest. He handed over his horse to the stable hand who’d helped him mount earlier that morning and then made his way to his tent. It was customary for a victorious general to welcome his knights into his tent for a festive meal, but Arthur was just too tired. He wanted to be on his own. He’d make up for it by throwing a great celebration once they got back to Camelot.

 

His big tent was nice and warm when he walked in, with the smell of spring and flowers in the air. Merlin had set out a plate with utensils and busily stirred the kettle filled with hot stew. There was a platter with thick, warm bread as well and a tankard of golden brown mead. Arthur sat down gratefully and didn’t question where it all came from and why it was there exactly at the time he needed it, perfectly warm enough to eat without burning his tongue.

 

Merlin didn’t speak and Arthur was too busy eating to talk anyway. Merlin topped up the tankard one last time and then left the tent. He came back with Gloria after Arthur finished his meal and Arthur succumbed to being undressed and poked and prodded. She smeared the ointment on his injury and then left again. It was routine by now and Arthur sank bank into his seat, this time a cup of mulled wine appearing at his elbow.

 

“Stop hovering, Merlin,” Arthur mumbled and Merlin sat down across from him, his own cup of mulled wine in his hand.

 

“How did the negotiations go?” Merlin asked.

 

Arthur shrugged. “Fine, how were things here?”

 

Merlin glared at him, probably getting himself into a strop because Arthur wasn’t gossiping about every little detail that had happened this afternoon. “Fine,” he snapped. Arthur didn’t laugh because it would have been beneath him.

 

He sighed, instead. “It’s funny though. Bayard renounced the old religion along with my father and took up the new one. But still, he said the gods must have been smiling on him when both father and I were not with the army. The gods, not God, the gods were smiling on him.”

 

Merlin didn’t reply and just watched him.

 

 

 

To Be Continued


	10. Chapter 10

 

“Repayment for damages; whole villages have been razed to the ground and we’ll need to buy extra grain and food from neighbouring kingdoms as the Mercian forces destroyed our crops. Fees for the dead; to be equally distributed among families of dead or maimed soldiers. The fine for breaking the treaty is the cessation of land; two provinces have been signed over to Camelot,” Arthur recited.

 

“I thought Mercia was claiming they hadn’t broken the treaty,” Merlin interjected.

 

Arthur nodded. “Yes, but they claimed the treaty left space for further negotiation, not unprovoked attack. They chose to attack in secret, without warning instead of asking to re-open negotiations, which the clause in the treaty supposedly provided for.”

 

Merlin nodded and continued folding up the bed linen. The second round of negotiations had been harrowing, but Bayard had eventually relented. Now, they were packing up and getting ready to leave and Arthur hoped to be on the road first thing the following morning. He couldn’t wait to get back to Camelot; sleep in his own bed, eat at his own table and rest. He was tired, so tired. He rubbed his forehead in a futile attempt to get rid of the headache building behind his temple. He needed to rest and think. He needed to figure out how he was going to explain Gloria’s presence to the council and what to do with Merlin.

 

He looked up to see Merlin bending over to put the folded bed linen in the chest. Merlin had objected and said that he should save the linen and the bed for the following morning, but Arthur didn’t want the delay and he’d sleep on a bedroll like everyone else. Merlin had argued that it would be bad for his shoulder, but Gloria had grudgingly said it would be alright if Arthur slept on his belly and so Merlin had been forced to relent. He was packing up the pavilion at a leisurely pace, but Arthur was sure that when he woke up tomorrow morning, everything would be packed and he was equally sure that he didn’t want to know how. What was he going to do about that? What was he going to do about Merlin?

 

He’d threatened to send him back to Ealdor, but he didn’t know if he actually could. He could ask Merlin to stop using his magic, to live in accordance with Camelot’s laws, and Merlin would say yes, Arthur, I will, but in secret he’d do whatever he saw fit because that’s what he always did. He could charge Merlin with the use of sorcery and have him burned on the pyre, which is what he should do, as prince of Camelot. But he wouldn’t. So what could he do? Let Merlin carry on as he had, knowing that Merlin was breaking the law every single day? It would be treasonous; a betrayal of his oath to his king, to his country, to the laws and office he had sworn to uphold.

 

He rubbed his head and got up out of the chair. He needed some fresh air and he wasn’t going to get it in here, with Merlin staring at him and folding his linen.

 

“I’m going for a walk.”

 

Merlin stopped folding and stared at him. “Alright.”

 

“Alone,” Arthur emphasized and got up from his chair. He left the tent and Merlin staring at his back behind him and let the cool night breeze ruffle through his hair. The camp was full of activity: people standing over cooking fires and others packing up what could be packed. He walked over to where the horses were tethered and wished he’d brought an apple to feed his bay charger.

 

“I don’t suppose you’d know what to do about all this?” He asked Broch, but the horse just snorted and butted his head against Arthur’s palm. With a sigh, Arthur scratched the big beast behind the ears while he listened to the noises of camp life around him.

 

“Should I ask what you mean by all this?” Leon’s voice came as a slight surprise, but Arthur did not jump at the sound of it. Instead, he patted Broch’s long neck and turned around. Leon was dressed as the Captain of the Guard should be: chainmail and cloak with his sword by his side. Arthur knew that Leon’s middle was probably bandaged, but you couldn’t even see it with the padding of the chainmail, gambeson and tunic. The stubble on his face had morphed into the beginnings of a proper beard though and his hair was a bit scraggly. Arthur was sure that he looked similar and he couldn’t wait to get back to civilization, to Camelot.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur said because that was all that needed to be said.

 

He wondered if there was a way for him to stop knowing. If he could just surrender the knowledge from his mind and have things to back to the way they were before. That’s what the knowledge did to him. It put everything he and Merlin had been for each other firmly in the past, in a before that would never again be the now or forever. Instead, he had to content with an after and he had no idea what shape or form that after would take. When he tried to puzzle it out, the same options returned to him again and again, but none of them were actions he could live with. To banish Merlin from Camelot would be to betray all that had happened between them and to them over the long years of their friendship. To let things go on as they were was to betray his king and his country and all that he had sacrificed for the both of them. To put Merlin on the pyre would be to betray a fundamental part of himself and the man he strove to be. Yet, those seemed to be the extent of his options.

 

Leon snorted, “I don’t think Broch has any notion beyond the relief that he’s not you.”

 

“Speaking from experience?” Arthur asked.

 

“Oh sure, I’ve experienced that sentiment myself many a time.”

 

“None as bad as this,” Arthur said and Leon nodded in agreement.

 

“None as bad as this. Not even the dragon, the troll or being kidnapped was as bad as this.”

 

It was, Arthur realized, the stark and naked truth. All the dangers he had faced and losses he’d endured and choices he had made paled in comparison to this. Merlin was … Arthur didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. What was Merlin? What did he mean to Arthur? They were questions Arthur had never asked and as his feelings on the matter seemed to swell with the answer, a heat in his throat, they seemed better left unanswered. If he could free himself of all of that, he would be alright. When he figured out what to do with Merlin, the world would right itself.

 

“What would you do? If you were in my place?”

 

Leon sighed from deep within his chest. “I don’t know, sire.”  


Arthur looked at the messy rabble of tents and bedrolls and thought that maybe they should start issuing tents to be shared by two so the men, soldiers and drafted labour alike, didn’t need to sleep under the naked sky. A tent would offer some protection against wind and rain compared to a simple bedroll.

 

“The only thing I do know,” Leon continued, “is that we would have lost the field without you and that Merlin is the only reason you are still with us. I suspect this isn’t the first time that is true.”

 

“I know that I owe my life to Merlin.”

 

“And the triumph of Camelot? If Merlin has been working for the good of Camelot behind the scenes, many mysteries of the last few years seem clearer to me.”

 

Leon had dropped his voice so that only Arthur could hear him, but that did little to soothe the sting of the truth.

 

“I can’t let him stay in Camelot,” Arthur whispered back.

 

“Can you not?”

 

“It would be treason of the highest order. It is against the law to use magic in Camelot.”  


“On the premise that all magic is evil, but I find it hard to believe that Merlin has ever used it for such purposes.”

 

“That doesn’t change anything.”

 

Leon shrugged. “The law states that magic shall be punished by death, but the presumption that magic is evil implies that the magical acts must be evil for them to be classified as magic in the eyes of the law. Thus, for magic to be punishable by death in accordance with the law, the act must be evil.”

 

Arthur stared at him. “That is a matter of semantics.”

 

“Of legality,” Leon countered.

 

Arthur shook his head. “You are not seriously suggesting that we let Merlin stay as if nothing were different.”  
  
“Nothing would be different; all that Merlin did, he did without our knowing. Our knowing now will not change those actions. They happened regardless. He has always been this way. Things have always been this way. And it seems to me that we stand to lose far more than we gain if we send him away … If we stand to gain anything at all.”  


Arthur mulled the words over in his mind all night. He could barely sleep, except for those few hours between the dead of night and the dawn, when he startled awake by the sound of Merlin banging his shin against the table. He dressed himself, until Gloria came into the tent and scowled at him. She treated his shoulder and helped him get dressed and forced him into the sling while Merlin stared at them all the way through. He had a large breakfast and had Leon send orders to hand out dry supplies to the men so they would not be forced to break the march for lunch. Arthur wanted to get home as soon as possible.

 

He left behind a garrison to start rebuilding the little town. Hopefully they would have some structures ready and waiting by the time the fugitives were starting to return home. Arthur knew very well that Camelot herself could not sustain a large amount of villagers indefinitely. They had to return home as soon as was feasible. He’d send a company with them, to help them pull carts with food from the stores to tie them over until they could get their own crops ready. If they hurried, they might yield a little before winter was well and truly upon them, but whatever they could get would be meagre. Mercia would of course supply them with grain in payment for what they’d burned, but that would take a while to arrive as well.

 

There was no word yet on whether or not the copy of the treaty had been recovered in Mercia’s capital, but at this point it would only sweeten the pot and Arthur could be magnanimous enough to let the matter lie. At least, until such time as a moral and political high ground over Mercia became necessary again. All Arthur desired now was to return to Camelot and have things be … as normal as could be. To that end, he thought of what Leon had said all through the march in the sun.

 

It was a sunny day for a march and Arthur knew the foot soldiers would be sweating and uncomfortable. But he didn’t hear the tell-tale cadence of complaint at the pace and he knew that everyone was eager to get home. At Vortigern’s Keep half of the army departed, but not without a meeting in Arthur’s pavilion and a thinly-veiled threat to the lords of the south. They owed their allegiance to Camelot and they would do well to remember that. However, he did send a signed letter with them that entitled them to their share of the compensation from Mercia along with instructions on how it was to be divided among the lords and the people.

 

Arthur managed to send Merlin away to care for his horse for a few hours, although he suspected the young man had gone to sulk to Gwaine for a bit. He ignored Merlin when he returned to the pavilion and went to bed early, staring at the canopy in the dark. The next day, they were off again and despite the army and its followers being halved, they still had a long train of wagons and men behind him. Arthur’s shoulder pained him and he was tired, so he ordered the march to a halt at midday and allowed the caravan to catch up. By the time they did, the sun was already lowering itself under the horizon in the distance, so they had no choice but to camp for the night.

 

He skulked in his pavilion, despite the fact that he could hear the murmur of his knights right outside, gathered around the fire. He didn’t wish to join them. He wasn’t sure how much Gwaine had told Percival and Elyan, but his knights were a bunch of gossiping old ladies and they must know more by now than Arthur was comfortable with. The gossip inside their little circle would never reach outside ears, but Arthur didn’t know what they would think of him or of Merlin and a part of him would rather not know at all. Merlin tended to him again, but was silent and a little resentment filled the space between his shoulder blades. He hurried from the pavilion as soon as he could and Arthur didn’t blame him

 

“I don’t suppose you’d go and check on Arthur’s shoulder?” Merlin asked. He was standing in one of the hastily erected tents at the back of the march train, watching Gloria tend to a few of the wounded. Plenty of them needed constant care and Merlin had split his duties evenly between Arthur and the soldiers whenever he could. It wasn’t as if Arthur was demanding all his time anyway.

 

“In a little while. He hasn’t gone to bed yet, has he?” She spared him only a quick glance and so didn’t catch his shrug.

 

“No, but his shoulder’s bothering him and he won’t tell anyone. He could use some looking after.”  


She took a bandage from a basket next to the cot on which the young man lied and deftly swaddled his arm. “Then look after him.”

 

“He doesn’t want me there,” Merlin insisted.

 

She snorted, loudly and deliberately. “No patient wants his nursemaid hovering over his shoulder. It’s the way of things.”  


“It’s not that.”

 

She didn’t answer him; only gave him a roll of bandages and pointed at a cot at the far end. So Merlin went to change bandages and help soldiers slurp down their thin broth and make them drink their potions. He caught Gloria leaving the tent a little while later and he felt better knowing that she’d gone to have a look at Arthur. The shoulder wound worried Merlin even if Gloria hadn’t said a word to make him worry, but the way Arthur was more careful with his injury than usual spoke volumes. There was no sense worrying about it. Arthur would tell him when he was ready to tell him and fretting would not do anyone any good. The real problem was that Merlin didn’t know if he would be around to listen to Arthur after they reached Camelot.

 

To Be Continued


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

Word had arrived in Camelot that Arthur had defeated the armies of Mercia at the border and Gwen had never known such exalted celebration. Camelot, while used to hardships and troubles, had been a city of peace time for years. Most of her people were too young to remember the times of war before Uther had become king, when he had gone to war with his brother Vortigern over the throne, and hoped never to see war or a siege that could last for months. Those who were old enough to remember were far and few in between and never spoke of those days at all. Their relief was almost palpable and so their generosity to the refugees only increased over the days when they were preparing to leave Camelot and return to their homes, or whatever was left of them.

 

Lancelot had co-ordinated small regiments to escort the travellers back home. Now that the threat of a siege had evaporated, the large force left behind in Camelot was no longer necessary. Lord Godwin was also beginning preparations to go home, but the lady Elena had loudly declared that she would not go home until Arthur and Gwaine had returned from the field of battle. It was a point of contention between her and her father, but Gwen had seen the steel behind Elena’s elegant and soft exterior and knew that Godwin was fighting a losing battle.

 

For herself, she was torn between avoiding Lancelot at all costs and running into his arms every available opportunity. The pain in Arthur’s face when he’d learned of her infidelity still haunted her, but the memory of Lancelot’s kiss flushed through her at the oddest moments and despite her guilt, she knew that she had made the right choice. She loved Arthur as a friend, as the king she knew he could be and she loved him like the girl whose secret fantasies raised her up from her life of poverty and made her a princess. But she loved Lancelot like a woman who wanted him in her heart, her bed and her life; hardships and all. She couldn’t love Arthur the way he deserved to be loved: as a man.

 

It shamed her now; the knowledge that her love for Arthur had been such a shallow, romantic notion. She would make amends; serve Arthur and Camelot to the best of her abilities. In time, she would be a friend Arthur could trust. She thought of that while she bandaged wounded soldiers and helped recovering ones on carts so they could be taken home. She went into the forest with a small party to help Gaius restock his herb supply. She helped him brew potions and tear up fresh bandages and keep track of who had what injury and needed which kind of long-term or short-term care. She did her duty and nothing more.

 

Lancelot came to her house when his duties allowed and sometimes they would sit together. He seemed as conflicted as she was and so they talked of inconsequential things until her throat was sore and she had to show Lancelot out. The nights were terribly dark and even though the city rejoiced, there was a lingering sense of impending doom she was sure only she could feel. Arthur would be returning and with it either his wrath or his forgiveness. His fury she could stand. The shouting and the throwing of cups, she was familiar with it. His forgiveness would be terrible and she didn’t know if she could stand his generosity of feeling in the face of her own betrayal. He was such a good and kind man and if he was kind and good to her after all this, it would only slap her in the face.

 

She didn’t breathe a word of it to Lancelot, who longed for Arthur’s return, longed for his king’s forgiveness and his trust. She comforted herself with the thought that Arthur was a man of his word and no matter what happened, Lancelot would remain a knight of the realm and Arthur would never induce his friends to turn their back on a fellow knight. But Arthur was loved and she didn’t know what the knights would do of their own accord when they inevitably heard the news.

 

The morning sun did little to chase away her own, personal demons and when the guards on the wall announced that the returning army was on the horizon; her heart jumped in her throat. All day, her hands turned jittery and unstable. She dropped the bandages she was rolling up on the floor so many times, Gaius asked her to return them to the washing room as they were no longer sanitary. She spilled far too much pepper in the soup and the cook chased her out of the kitchen in a temper. She ended up scrubbing blood off the empty tables in the great hall and tried not to wonder if the person who lay their last had walked off on their own two legs or if they had died. She ignored the excited tittering of the servants around her, of the guards who came and went, and she tried to steel herself against following them out, into the courtyard or the city when the cry finally rang out.

 

“The prince is back! Arthur’s come back!”

 

“The army’s here! Can you see Thomas?”

 

“Quick! Fetch the knights; they need to see their king return!”

 

“He’s not a king yet.”

 

“He will be, soon enough.”

 

She was shaking and when she saw Lancelot in the distance, she purposely didn’t look at him when they passed each other. She couldn’t bear it. She left the shadows of the hallway, amidst a swarm of people and stepped into the crowd on the edges of the sun-filled courtyard. There, at the head of the procession, was Arthur.

 

He looked like a king. His hair was gold in the sunlight and his armour shined, it was so polished. His red cloak was draped behind him and he sat straight up, smiling. Someone had tied flowers to the reigns of his horse; probably a young woman the knights’ procession had passed in the street. Behind him trailed a sea of people dressed in red and steel. Leon was at his right shoulder, with Gwaine beside him on Arthur’s left. They looked tired, but they were smiling. Arthur looked as if he’d just woken from a restful sleep; perfectly pressed and polished. He was even clean shaven, unlike the rest of the knights.

 

The procession halted and Arthur dismounted, his knights following his example. Stable hands came forward to take the horses and the luggage and Arthur spoke quickly to the citadel’s quartermaster and the seneschal. No doubt a feast would be in order tonight. The great hall would have to be cleared, but the wounded were well enough that they could be moved to their homes or to temporary lodgings in the barracks if they were far from home. There would be fresh meat, Gwen knew, as a hunting party had been sent out to capture a fresh boar only that morning. A vectoring army couldn’t feast on preserved meats.

 

She finally saw Merlin, coming up to Arthur. They exchanged a few seemingly friendly words, but Gwen could tell Merlin was upset, but the set of his shoulder and the pout in his lip. A woman came up to stand with them. She was tall, as tall as Arthur, with blond hair, wearing a neat dress. She reached into her bag, but Arthur shook his head and walked off. She turned to speak with Merlin and Gwen had a feeling that she knew this woman but couldn’t place her. When she turned to follow Merlin into the citadel, in Gwen’s direction she realized it was the witch who had stood trail for attempted murder of the king less than two months ago. What was she doing with the procession?

 

“Gwen!”

 

Startled, she turned and was swept up into her brother’s embrace. She laughed and threw her arms around his shoulders while he twirled with her in his arms.

 

“Elyan!”

 

He put her down and his grin was the broadest he’d ever seen.

 

“We won, Gwen! I thought we were done for, that we’d be thrown into the river, but,” he sighed and laughed, “there he was! Arthur came and won the day. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes.”

 

She smiled and was sure it must have been brittle and empty at the sound of Arthur’s name. Elyan didn’t seem to notice, swept up in his own euphoria.

 

“It’s so good to be home.”

 

She hugged him again, close to her.

 

“I’m so glad that you’re alright.”

 

It shamed her now, that she had thought so little of him when he was at the front of the lines. She’d been so preoccupied with Arthur and Lancelot, she had hardly even thought of him: her own flesh and blood. She did not like the person she had become in the midst of all of this. She hugged him tighter.

 

“I’m alright, Gwen,” he said, patting her back slightly. “I’m alright.”

 

He held her there, for a moment longer and Gwen was faintly aware of others around her doing the same: holding on to their loved ones. The war was over: had finished in less than a week and the relief was almost palpable. The fear of a possible siege was gone, of food shortages, of more dead men that would never come home from the field. It was all over and Gwen started crying, she did not know why. Elyan laughed when he noticed, but it was laughter wet with the sound of his own tears.

 

All around her, people were crying and laughing at the same time. She could see a young page reunited with his mother and father. The father, too old to have gone to the battle himself, was holding his son clutched to his chest while his mother was smiling through her sobs. Closer to the centre, there were the knights who’d been left behind clasping hands with the knights from the battle. Some, like Percival and Amadis de Gaul were hugging. Gwaine was directing his squire, Neville and the sun glinted off his armour, except where Elena’s ribbon still hung, faded blue and spotted with blood.

 

Terence seemed awfully pleased at having Gwaine back and unlike a few other squires and pages, terribly unconcerned with having been left behind in Camelot during the battle. The boy was a poet through and through and Gwaine would really have to do something about that soon. Perhaps he could talk to the boys’ father or get him apprenticed to a scholar in the library somewhere. George was getting on in age, surely he could someone to carry all those dusty tomes for him.

 

“I see you wore the ribbon even into battle.”

 

Gwaine smiled and turned slowly, to give himself the time to savour the revelation of Elena standing on the steps into the citadel. Her hair was done up, the strands pulled away from her face and she was dressed in the exact same shade of blue as the ribbon he wore. She was a vision and Gwaine could look his fill now, out in the open, where everyone else could see.

 

“How else would it bring me my good fortune, good lady,” he replied and she smiled at his grin.

 

He stepped closer and she met him halfway, taking her shirt in hand to descend.

 

“And did it?”

 

“I stand here still, do I not?”

 

“Indeed, you do,” she said and her smile made his heart give a great big thump. He was a very lucky man, to have the regard of a woman like Elena, who knew her own mind and had her own ways and could ride a horse like no one he had ever seen before. He took her hand and kissed it in lieu of taking her in his arms and kissing her on her mouth. He had tasted her kiss in the darkness of a garden and a corridor and knew that it would not be appropriate for an open courtyard.

 

“Are you pleased that I have returned to you?” He asked playfully and then had to catch his breath when she looked him up and down with darkened eyes.

 

“How could I not be?” She stepped closer and Gwaine resisted the urge to step away, afraid that her father was staring at him at the top of the stairs.

 

He grinned instead. “There are plenty in the world who wouldn’t mind never seeing me darken their doorstep again.”

 

She grinned back. “It is their loss to miss out on such a lovely sight.”

 

He stared at her like an utter clotpole for several seconds and was only saved by Arthur popping up on his right.

 

“Elena, how wonderful to see you.”

 

She smiled prettily and curtsied. “Arthur, welcome home. It must be heavenly to return to Camelot after such a gruelling campaign.”

 

He smiled and inclined his head. “It is indeed, although I’m sure Camelot and her people would not be half as well prepared to greet me in good spirits if you had not been here. I hear that I owe to you the health of my men and the morale of my people.”

 

She gave a dismissive little shrug and merely smiled. “We all do what we can, Arthur.”

 

“Indeed,” Arthur said, nodding and offered her his arm in passing to mount the steps. Elena turned to accept and wiggled her eyes at Gwaine behind Arthur’s back.

 

He only listened with one ear to the speech Arthur gave to the people. No doubt it was something grand: his pride in his people about showing bravery in the face of danger, of persevering through death and hunger, the lost dead and the ability to carry on now as gracious victors whilst mourning the dead.

 

“There is no point now to seek revenge when justice has been done. Let us all, the people of Camelot and Mercia, grieve for our fallen brothers, fathers and husbands. Let us forge new bonds of friendship with old enemies, to make each other stronger and work for a peaceful lives for our loved ones and the future of our people.”

 

There was a great applause and Gwaine could see Gloria and Merlin both standing near the edge of the courtyard. She was frowning slightly, clapping with the rest of the crowd, but looking thoughtful. Merlin, however, was cheering fervently, that light of devotion back in his eyes. As far as he knew, Merlin and Arthur were still on the outs, but he was sure they would work it out in their time and fashion. They had both given too much of themselves to the other to walk away now.

 

To Be Continued ….


	12. Chapter 12

 

Everyone was more or less surprised that Arthur delayed the feast for a few days. Instead, the barracks served a richer meal than usual and regular training would not commence until at least four weeks from their arrival. It was a welcome respite from wearing chain mail and plate and everyone, except for the healers and nurses, slept in late. Leon was sure that if anyone tried to get Gaius back to bed the old man would say something close to “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” and simply move on to his next patient. For himself, he slept as long as his body allowed and went in pursuit of breakfast. He stopped by the house his family owned in the Upper Town and checked on all the live-in servants the house employed even though neither Leon nor his parents lived there.

 

They’d been rattled by the possibility of a siege, but they were alright. They’d taken in a few refugees and Leon made sure that they had enough funds to secure blankets and food for everyone. He then returned to the citadel and went to check on the wounded. They were being transported to the barracks except for the ones who, like Leon, had property in the Upper Town and could be cared for there in comfort. The troops stationed in Camelot during the battle had been sent out to rebuild the villages destroyed at the border. A few were already helping villagers relocate. Arthur wanted as many out of the city as quickly as possible to minimize the impact on the city’s stores.

 

There was still a lot to be done in the aftermath of the battle, but people seemed relieved and pleased enough at its end. The preparations for the feast were already underway and the servants chatted excitedly about the food and the drink to be served. For his part, Leon wasn’t sure he’d attend the feast beyond the compulsory hour or so. He felt too tired and drained, even after the longest night sleep he’d had in a while. His ribs seemed be to healing alright though, probably because he’d managed to stay off his horse for the few days they’d been camped in Amtphill before making the arduous march back to Camelot.

 

He didn’t see hide nor hair from Merlin for days, while Arthur was seen all over town, in his sling but only with a guard or two, speaking to the people and offering assurances that Camelot was a safe land once more. Leon walked the battlements and talked to some of the guards who were back on regular patrol. He spent his time arranging duty rosters and preparing death lists so family members could be informed. He wanted to gather his knowledge of the city close to him, for when Arthur asked after her as he inevitably would in the days to come. Lancelot had made himself scarce as well, although Leon was sure it had less to do with Merlin’s secret and more with all the times he’d been seen at Gwen’s house while Arthur was away. Leon tried not to judge, but he couldn’t help but think it cowardly for Lancelot to speak his heart when Arthur was gone and Gwen was alone and afraid. The rumours said that Gwen had received him late into the night and given how Gwen was holed up in her house instead of Arthur’s rooms Leon thought it must be true.

 

The other knights remained unaware, but word would reach them soon and he hoped it didn’t ruin their cohesion as a group. Arthur was a loved commander and although Gwaine in particular would never admit it, to betray Arthur was to betray all of them. For now though, Percival and Amadis de Gaul had been seen at breakfast together several times now and Leon would make sure to speak to the knight of Gaul about his desire to remain in the city. Arthur had agreed that arrangements could be made in gold and positions and although Arthur could not promise him lands … there might be an empty province somewhere or other in need of a lord to keep it.

 

On the evening of the feast, he changed into more formal wear and wasn’t surprised to see that the great hall was stuffed to the rafters with knights and noblemen. Even those who usually excused themselves from courtly affairs were in attendance. During the brief moments of mingling before the actually meal, he could see several council members approach Arthur. They were probably offering excuses for refusing to give Leon command over the royal seal and trying to safeguard their possession. If the battle had made one thing clear, it was that Uther’s reign was coming to an end and so was their time. When Arthur became king, he would be in his right to appoint his own council and current members were becoming aware that it might be a good idea to settle themselves securely in Arthur’s good books. It was too little too late, Leon thought. They were all sycophants of Uther’s and Arthur had little patience with them, nor would he forget their treatment of him during the years. Change was coming and they would all get swept away.

 

He tried to shake the melancholy, but couldn’t seem to help himself. Even after he was seated he observed Arthur’s strained smile and Merlin’s conspicuous absence. Gwaine was seated next to lady Elena and seemed deeply embroiled in conversation with her. Lord Godwyn was seated next to them and seemed to be ignoring the both of them, looking like he swallowed a lemon. Lancelot was seated next to him and seemed to be lost in thought. Gwen wasn’t present and Leon was sure that some of the noblemen had noticed considering she had been Arthur’s guests at all the feasts during the tournament. Elyan had noticed his sister’s absence and seemed to be aware of the cause, given the uncomfortable look on his face, seated on Lancelot’s other side. Percival was ignoring all of it, completely engrossed in his conversation with Amadis de Gaul.

 

The atmosphere was an odd combination of hysterical happiness, melancholy and grief and Leon excused himself as soon as he could. Instead of amusing, the drunken shenanigans seemed sad and desperate and he couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. He was sure he wasn’t the only one because Arthur had slipped out not long before Leon had. He was grateful for the silence and the darkness in the corridors as he went down and up several stairs, passing from the citadel to the barracks and entering his little room as Captain of the Guard. Leon liked his little room. It was devoid of all the luxuries normally afforded to lords or sons of lords, in Leon’s case. It only had the bare necessities and Leon appreciated the minimalism. There was no need for luxury in a soldier’s life.

 

Tonight, even the little room felt off. He debated going back to his family’s house in the Upper Town. They always kept a room for him ready; a room with a big, wide mattress and plump pillows and heavy drapery that would keep the sun out forever. No one would think to look for him there and he could sleep until the world had righted itself again, but then Arthur would not be able to find him, would not think to look for him there should he need to, and Leon was not one to shirk his duty. Discomfited, he took of his jacket and was about to take off his shirt when there was a knock on the door.

 

He should have known it would be her, he realized the second she stepped through the door. She had her healer’s bag with her and her expression was blank, like a wooden slab.

 

“Good, you’re here. I came to look at your ribs.”

 

He frowned. “Now?”

 

Gloria closed the door behind her and put her bag on the small table. “I’ve just finished my rounds and went to see Arthur about his shoulder. Merlin mentioned that you’d left the feast and I could look at your injury now.” Her eyes flickered to his jacket, hung over the back of a chair and then back to him. “Is this a bad time?”

 

“No, it’s fine.”

 

He wasn’t going to ask her to have Gaius do it instead and he wasn’t going to ask her to leave. This would get done tonight and he could forget it all in the morning. She would be leaving soon and he could forget she existed. It was simply a matter of time before all this would be behind him. He pulled the bottom of his shirt over his head, felt his head slip through and then jumped because she was right there, taking the shirt from his arms and putting it on the table. Her arms went around him as she peeled off the bandages and he stared over the top her head at the wall. His heart was beating quickly, but he forced himself to remain calm and in control as she poked and prodded at his injuries. She put a salve on him, made him drink something and then wrapped him up again. The skin of her inner arm brushed against his side and he forced himself not to jump.

 

“Do you want me to make you remember?”

 

He hadn’t realized how quiet the room was until she spoke. Her voice was calm, cool. She looked at him and he had to force himself not to look away. She always seemed so restrained. She didn’t look at all like the girl he’d met in the pub, soft and shy. She was tall and thin and hard and he hated her a little bit.

 

“You’d have to use magic on me.”

 

“Yes. It wouldn’t hurt.”

 

“That’s not what worries me,” Leon said and wondered how she could hold his gaze like that. She never looked away.

 

“I give you my word that you will come to no harm and that I will not place you under my influence.”

 

He thought about it. It could be another ploy to take his mind hostage and get him to kill Uther, but she’d had free reign of the citadel for at least two days now and it seemed more likely that she would do the deed herself. Merlin trusted her and despite Arthur’s wary tolerance of her, he let her do as she pleased.

 

“Very well.”

 

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. She simply stepped closer again and put her hand on his chest, right above the bandages. He didn’t listen to the words, he could only see the gold flash before his eyes. He looked down and Uther was lying there; old and fragile. He lifted his left hand to strike him down and

 

he was walking through the corridor, away from his section to patrol, without a single thought in his mind, only aware of the weight of his sword, no one stopped to question him

 

and he was lying down in the little bed in his little room, the golden light still in his eyes and in his mind whispering him to sleep to wake to kill

 

and he was sitting on the bed in the Singing Hedgehog and she was whispering in his ear

 

no, she was sitting in his lap. His hand was slowly sliding up her calf, he could feel her goosebumps and the fine hairs there while he slipped underneath her skirt looking for the smooth skin of her thigh and her mouth was on his, hot and hard and her breasts pressed close against him and he was forgetting, forgetting everything.

 

He stood there, in his little room wearing only his trousers and his bandages and Gloria was frowning at him. “Do you need to sit down?”

 

He shook his head, cleared it and said, “no.” He raised his hand, cupped the back of her head and kissed her. It was savage and hard and she clutched at the meat of his shoulders, her fingernails digging in. He put his hands on her hips and pulled them flush together. He was bruising her, he must be but she didn’t pull away and so he didn’t stop.

 

He held her closer, moved his hand to the small of her back. He could feel the ties of her dress there and he loosened them until he could pull it down. They parted long enough for her to pull the dress off entirely, until she just stood there in her slip. She put her hand on the laces of his trousers and then cupped his cock instead. He pulled her mouth to his again, one hand on her jaw, the other on her breast and she made a noise that made him tear at the ties of her slip.

 

He pushed her down on the bed with the thin matrass, the only remotely comfortable surface in his room. One cap sleeve of her dress was pulled down to her elbow, the ties loose enough to pull the whole thing crooked and showing the creamy skin of her breasts, but she ignored it and reached for his trousers. He slapped her hands away and pulled his trousers down himself, along with his smallclothes and was only slightly gratified that she hurried to take the rest of her under things off. She threw them on the floor and the pristine white of her slip looked incongruous against the dark wood of the floor. She didn’t loosen her hair and a part of him wanted to wrap her braid around his fist.

 

He could barely stand to look at her and took hold of her knees to push her legs apart. Her body cradled his, his cock bumping into the slippery folds of her cunt and she bit his collarbone hard when he thrust in. She was so hot and so wet that he couldn’t possibly be held accountable for the noise he made. He had her right there, on the tiny little bed in his tiny little room. His hand on her hip held on so tightly there would be a bruise there in the shape of his hand and the bed rattled with every snap of his hips. Her hand was clenched around strands off his hair and she pulled at it while panting in his ear. Her body moved to meet him and her legs wrapped around his middle, the heel of her foot digging into the small of his back, spurring him on.

 

“Harder,” she said, her voice breaking and he wasn’t sure if he even could.

 

Her cry sounded strangled and he held her wrists over her head, pinned to the bed, as she clenched around him, the thumb of his other hand moving to press against her clit while she came. He didn’t stop and she kissed him, her tongue against his own as she tightened her legs around him.

 

“Come on,” she said, and nuzzled his cheek; a single moment of tenderness in the wreckage of their fucking.

 

He came, grinding his hips against hers, desperate and violent. He buried his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder and laid there. He relaxed his grip on her wrists but she didn’t move them while her legs shifted and tangled with his own. His muscles were lax and he knew he should move, to let her slip away if she wanted but he couldn’t summon the energy.

 

“When I saw you in Arthur’s chambers, I wanted to do this,” he mumbled against the bedding. “Take you against the table.”

  
She clenched around his soft prick and he slid out with a groan before simply passing out, his head pillowed on her shoulder.

 

He woke up, hard and confused with an armful of naked healer, when the morning light hit him in the face. Gloria was still sleeping, her head tipped back against the pillow and her mouth slightly open, breathing deep and even. They were only haphazardly covered with the blankets and he let his thumb brush the soft skin at the underside of the swell of her breast. She startled awake at the touch. She made an ‘mppf’ disgruntled noise and then groaned, her hips shifting beneath his leg. He let his hand slip down, his fingers brushing the skin of her belly and the jut of her hip and down to where her hair grew dark and dense and curly.

 

He pushed his thumb up against her clit and she breathed in sharply. He waited and then curled his fingers inward, softly stroking. He kissed her shoulder and then levered himself up on his elbow to kiss her collarbone and then her breast. She became damp underneath his fingers when he took her nipple into his mouth and he slipped in further. She made a small noise as he travelled down the flat plane of her stomach and then finally, when he pulled out his fingers and put his mouth there instead, she cried out and fisted one of her hands in his hair. The other gripped the edge of the bed and he used both hands to grasp her thighs.

 

She came, squirming against his tongue, so loose and relaxed. He slid in easily, straight to the root and she moaned when she took all of him. His mouth felt sore but he kissed her anyway and sat back on his knees, pulled her onto him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, held him close as they kissed leisurely. He whimpered when she rocked against him and he snapped his hips up harder, wanted to get deeper. He let his hands hold on to the soft skin of her back as he supported her body. He allowed himself to be held in her arms, to be gentle as she cradled him in turn. She came in his lap and pushed him unto his back so he came arching against the bed and the bedding trapped underneath him. They lay back against the mattress in a sticky tangle. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

 

He dozed slightly, until she got up from the bed and he sat up, leaning against his elbows. He watched as she crossed his room, clad only in the bruise on her hip in the shape of his hand, and poured some water from the jug into the washing bowl on the table. She washed her face and then between her legs. She bent over to retrieve her smallclothes and he watched as she dressed and she watched him watch her from the bed, naked on top of the covers.

 

“I have a meeting with Arthur and Gaius about further treatment for the wounded,” she said as she slipped the sleeves of her slip over her arms and then picked up her dress, which lay inside out on top of a chair. “I’m leaving Camelot tomorrow so they need to know what needs to be done.” He simply nodded and watched as she tied her dress and smoothed out the wrinkles with her hand. Her nimble fingers undid her braid, which was too messy to be in any way presentable, and then tie it again, quickly and deftly. “I should look at your ribs, before I go.”

 

He shrugged and his voice was a low rasp when he replied; “they’re fine. Gaius can look at them later if necessary.”

 

She rummaged through her bag, placed the bandages, cream and potion from the previous night back inside, and nodded. “Be sure to go see him before noon.” She looked outside. “It’s still early. I need to do my rounds before the meeting.”

 

She shouldered her bag and Leon briefly contemplated holding out his hand and beckon her back to the bed. He didn’t and she merely nodded before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her. He used the same water she had used to wash and studied himself in the cracked mirror. There was a bite mark on his collar bone and he could feel the tingle of a scratch on his shoulder, but he was otherwise unmarked.

 

 

To Be Continued ….


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is another installment coming, but I have no idea how long it will take me to write it up. I know what happens in it, but it's just finding the time to write it. Hopefully it won't take another year but I have no guarantees.

 

The meeting with Gaius and Gloria had gone well, both healers had agreed that all the wounded would recover, some would take months, but they were confident that none would die. With this news, the death lists could be finalized and Arthur could start sending out letters with his condolences to families and figure out how much restitution money from the war prize should go to which families and towns. With the wounded doing so well, Gloria had confirmed that she would be leaving tomorrow. Having her out of the city would be another load of his back. It seemed that everything could go back to normal, or a new kind of normal in any case.

 

He’d need to speak with Leon about the security of the city in light of all the refugees moving through it. Many were eager to return to their homes and find out what was left and Arthur was glad that the city would return to its usual number of inhabitants soon. It was less of a security risk and the sooner people left, the sooner they could rebuild. Arthur would make sure the resources were available and if they moved quickly enough, they might be able to salvage some crops for the coming winter. That would make it easier on everyone.

 

He’d schedule a meeting with Leon tomorrow and then gather a council meeting. The victory definitely swung the balance of power back in his favour and with Uther’s health the way it was, Arthur might not be crown prince for long. The thought was dispiriting, but it was time to face the facts. The tournament and Uther’s continued exposure to lord Godwyn’s presence had done nothing for the old man’s health. Instead, he was getting worse day by day and everyone seemed to feel that the end was nearing. But that could wait for another day, Arthur thought, as he opened the doors to his chambers. Tonight, he would rest and sleep and tomorrow he could think about his worries again.

 

The fire was burning in the hearth and the rooms were spotless. They had been, ever since his return to Camelot. In fact, all of his meals had been brought on time, his clothes laid out in pristine condition, his armour shining and rust-free, his bedding always freshly laundered. He hadn’t been able to make a single complaint and if Merlin thought this was an apology, he was sorely mistaken. There was another situation he’d rather leave for tomorrow, but his chambers were the one place he couldn’t really escape Merlin.

 

Speaking off, a steaming copper bath tub stood in the middle of the room and Merlin was pouring a bucket of water into it, checking the temperature with his fingers.

 

“I have a bath ready for you,” he said and Arthur did not roll his eyes, no matter how much he wanted to.

 

“I can see that.”

 

Merlin frowned. “Do you not want it?” He waved his hand around and the tub, bucket and water vanished. “There, it’s gone.”

 

Arthur sighed. He was simply too tired to be angry. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

 

“Does it bother you that much to see me do magic?”

 

Arthur turned his back to the table and hearth and found his bed instead. There were nightclothes laid out already. “Must we talk about this now?”

 

“We have to eventually, why not now?”

 

Because Arthur was tired and he’d rather not. Because Gloria had taken one look at Uther at his request and she’d written him off. Because he’d seen Gwen and Lancelot in the square together, standing far too close for propriety’s sake. Because he simply wanted things to go back to the way they were and having this conversation would change everything. If only he had never thought to hold the tournament, then maybe none of this would have happened.

 

“Fine, let’s do this now,” Arthur said, sitting down on the bed. Merlin was standing near the hearth still. “What do you have to say?”

 

Merlin frowned. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

 

“I asked you first.”

 

Merlin rolled his eyes and huffed, like the complete girl he was. “How old are you?”

 

“I’m the prince and I’ve asked you a question, how old I am doesn’t matter.”

 

There was silence then and Arthur had never seen Merlin look so unsure before.

 

“Nothing to say?” Arthur stood again, reached for the hem of his shirt. “I’m going to bed then. Lock the door on your way out.”  


“Are you going to punish me forever?”

 

Arthur dropped the hem back down and looked at Merlin, who looked like himself, the way he always looked. He’d moved directly under the archway leading to the sleeping area and he was wearing a blue shirt and tan trousers, with those shabby boots that had been in need of replacing at least four winters ago. His ears were sticking out as wildly as usual and he was pleading with Arthur, as usual, to share his feelings and to have a heart and all those girly things Merlin was so invested in. He was the same, but he was different because he had magic now, or Arthur knew he had magic, which was the same thing and he wasn’t the boy Arthur had known.

 

“It would serve you right.”

 

“No, it wouldn’t! It’d just be easier!”

 

Arthur laughed, because it had been anything but easy. “Easier than what?”

 

“Than forgiving me. Everything I’ve done was for you, even lying for you, I did it for you.”

 

“For all the good it did me,” Arthur said. “Now what do I do?”

 

Merlin made a noise like a cross between a hissing cat and a goat. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you! I didn’t want to put you into this position.”

 

“Well, it’s all for naught anyway, then!” Arthur snapped. “I _am_ in this position! What am I supposed to do with you now? Simply forgive you and move on and forget that with every breath I allow you to take here in Camelot, I am committing treason?”

 

“I don’t have to be committing treason!” Merlin countered and there was an odd light in his face then. “You can change all that! You’ll be king soon and you can change those laws, leave all that hatred behind. You can usher in a new age, a better age, where people like me don’t have to be afraid, don’t have to hide. Magic is not evil. There is so much good it can do and we can do it for the good of all!”

 

Arthur felt cold. “Is that why you’ve been my friend, all these years? So you could trick me into liking you so I would change the laws for you? So you can practice your precious magic in public?”

 

Merlin looked like Arthur had hit him. “Of course not. I did it for you.”

 

“You did it for yourself” Arthur hissed. “You did it so I would live long enough to change the laws, so I would like you well enough!”

 

Merlin’s face twisted angrily. “That is not true. You don’t know what it’s been like for me! To have your best friend not know you for who you are. You’ve never seen the worth of me beyond how I could polish your shoes and still, I stayed, for you, because you’re my best friend. I did it for you!”

 

Arthur scoffed. “Of course you did! There was nothing in it for you, was there? So you’d stay and be my servant even if I didn’t change the laws? Even if I forbade you from doing magic? You’d stay because you’re my _friend_.”

 

“I would,” Merlin said and it drained Arthur because he said it so quietly, so surely that it could be nothing but the truth. “I said once that I’d be happy to be your servant until the day I died. That was true then and it’s true now. I would stay here and be your servant and carry on as we have been whether you change the laws or not.”

 

“Why?” Because there was no sane reason for him to.

 

“Because you’re my best friend. You matter more to me than anyone else does. I’ve killed for you, risked my life for you, risked the lives of others and I would do all of that again.”

 

“Why?” Arthur asked because he couldn’t fathom it. Why would Merlin, who could do so much, risk so much, just for Arthur’s sake.

 

“Because there’s no one like you, Arthur!” Merlin shouted and then he said, “because when my mother came to Camelot to beg Uther for help and he said no, you came anyway, with nothing but the sword at your side. You remember? You taught us how to fight because you believed we had the right to live our lives in peace. You stood there and said within this circle, we are all equals. Do you know what did, to someone like me? A peasant, trod on by high lords coming to collect our taxes and leave us to our fate. When you said that, that’s when I knew.”

 

“I have known it again time after time. All these years, you have risked yourself for people beneath your notice. You have stood up for people like us, like me. You have become my greatest friend. I believe you are going to do amazing things. I believe you are going to be the greatest king Camelot has ever seen. I believe you will change the world. But even if you don’t, I will still stay here with you, because there is no one else I would serve, no one I would find worthy.”

 

He said it so simply, so straightforward as if it had been a truth evident and known for years now. Maybe it had been, but not by Arthur, who found himself caught by surprise by Merlin’s surety, his devotion. He always was.

 

Merlin sighed. He looked old and tired, the way Arthur did when he looked in the mirror. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

 

“I thought we were finally having this conversation,” Arthur said even if he didn’t know why.

 

Merlin simply shook his head and left the room and Arthur changed into a night shirt, dousing the candles by himself. He tried not to think about Merlin when he lay down, but couldn’t help himself. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, haunted by dreams where Merlin left him anyway or worse, where Arthur sent him away, back to Ealdor. He was thankful for the morning, although he felt more tired facing the weak sunlight than he had been the night before. He dressed himself, put on his sling, and went to the barracks for breakfast. It would be good for the men to see as much of him as possible and if it helped him avoid Merlin during breakfast, so be it.

 

He had a meeting with Leon, where he was apprised of the state of the city. He asked Leon to write an official report the scribes could copy and distribute to the rest of the council. It would save them time in the next meeting. He went on an inspection of the stores, which were in far better shape than he’d feared and made sure to have someone draw up more precise figures. After the noon meal, also taken in the barracks, he went to say goodbye to Gloria. He crossed the courtyard, a servant having pointed him in the direction of the stables and he stopped right outside the door.

 

Leon and Gloria were standing there, close together, as close as Lancelot and Gwen had been. They were not speaking. He had his hand on her hip, clutching at the fabric, and her own hand was clenched around his wrist. But she was not pushing him away, instead they seemed caught in limbo, unsure where to move or what to do. Arthur found himself holding his breath as he watched them, until, eventually, Gloria released Leon’s wrist, to cup his cheek instead and kissed him. He drew her closer to him, until they were embracing. They stopped kissing, breathing close together and then finally stepped away. They parted without words and Arthur had no idea what he’d just seen.

 

“You can came out now,” Gloria said when Leon had left the stables through the side door and Arthur appeared, refusing to look sheepish in his own Citadel.

 

“What was that?”

 

She just looked at him and so he went on with business. He gifted her with a horse from his own stables, so she would not have to make the journey on foot and as a thank you for her services. If that got her out of Camelot and back to her cottage all the quicker, it was no skin off his nose.

 

“I assure you, the pardon was thank you enough,” she said, patting the horse’s flank.

 

“I thought you didn’t care about my judgement, or my pardon.”

 

She ignored him, securing her saddlebags to the beast. There weren’t many people milling about the stables or the courtyard as she got ready. He suspected she and Merlin had already said their goodbyes and there weren’t many who she would have anything else to say to.

 

“What was that with Leon?” He couldn’t help but ask again, right before she mounted.

 

She sighed, but didn’t say anything on the matter and so Arthur refrained from asking anymore. He doubted he would understand even if she did try to explain. Leon had seemed more relaxed than he had in aeons when they spoke earlier in the day, and Arthur hoped that whatever had been said, if anything had been said at all, had been good for the both of them. He saw her off at the gate, extracting a promise that she would come to his aid in the future, if he called for it. He spent the rest of the day walking the battlements and talking to the guards, waiting or dreading for the sun to go down, he didn’t know.

 

His heart was pounding when he really could no longer put off returning to his chambers and of course, Merlin was there, because Merlin was always there. Arthur didn’t even know why he’d been surprised or what he’d been expecting. Merlin looked anxious, even if there was defiance in the corner of his mouth. That didn’t surprise Arthur either. He took off his jacket and dropped it on a chair. There was a plate of stew and bread on the table, with a juge of wine. Merlin must have noticed him looking, because his voice cut through the silence between them.

 

“I can clear it away, if you’ve had dinner already.”

 

Arthur laughed, but to his own surprise, there was no malice in it. He was too tired and too much had happened in the past few days. It had been drained out of him. He’d been stumbling blind for the last few days, unsettled. He’d look to the right, expecting Merlin to be there and then, when he wasn’t Arthur would rage against himself. He shouldn’t miss Merlin the way he missed a limb. He shouldn’t be tired of being angry; he should keep it close to his chest to protect himself the way his father always had. But he was tired, so tired and he did miss Merlin. His absence went through Arthur like a groove worn in by time. It would deepen and deepen until he cracked completely. He laughed again.

 

“It’s fine,” he said and sat down. He dipped some of the bread in the stew and took a bite. It was rabbit and very well made. He watched silently, chewing, as Merlin took up the jug and poured him a cup.

 

“I am sorry,” Merlin said and Arthur sighed in response.

 

“I do know that,” he offered. He motioned to the seat next to him. “Sit down.”

 

Merlin did, but he didn’t pour himself a glass of wine like he would have done in the past, the insolent little sod and as far as Arthur could tell, he hadn’t brought in a second plate for himself like he usually did either. He ate in silence and when he was full, he pushed his plate with his leftovers at Merlin, who didn’t touch it.

 

“Not hungry? You usually jump on my leftovers before I’m done with them.” Merlin hesitated and Arthur wondered why everything had to be an exercise in frustation with Merlin. “Just have it!” Arthur snapped and Merlin tucked in, but without his usual gusto and Arthur was so fed up.

 

“Stop acting like I’ll send you away! We both know I won’t.” There, he’d said it and it was out there.

 

“But what will you do?” Merlin asked and Arthur slumped back in his seat.

 

“Nothing, for now, nothing. Can we just go back to the way things were before?”

 

Merlin put his spoon down and shook his head. “And just ignore me? Ignore who I am?”

 

Arthur took a fortifying drink of his wine. “You said that I’ve never known you for who you are. I can know you now, let’s start with that.”

 

Merlin nodded, slowly. “You’ll have to do something eventually.”

 

“Yes, but I’ll wait until....” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

 

“Until you are king,” Merlin finished for him.

 

Arthur gave him a warning look. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I’m king.”

 

Merlin smiled, really smiled, for the first time in days. “I’ll just stick around until you do.”

 

 

 

The End


End file.
